


Soul of Glass

by Xenobia



Series: Modern Wyndrah [3]
Category: Wyndrah - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Implied Het, M/M, Mpreg, Sexual Content, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:03:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 33
Words: 281,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1975266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobia/pseuds/Xenobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sequel to "Mirage".  Three months have passed since the events of "Mirage" and while some plan to welcome new family members or focus on their careers, others are caught up in a struggle that begins with a mission to locate and capture the villain known as "Sandman".  The Ulvari-vash, the Order of the Wolf and the Bargel will find that the lines between justice and truth are thinner than they imagine, and even stranger alliances are bound to occur as a result.</p><p>Warnings: Graphic sex, graphic violence, foul language, physical abuse, same-gender romance.  Mature audience only.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**_Prologue_ **

_Copyright © C.R. Bostic, 2012_

~xox~

_Rhuidhim; uptown suburbia, 3424 A.W.:_

Evindar expressed his relief to have the photoshoot and magazine interview finished as soon as the press was out the door and he and Ronin had the house to themselves again. 

"Thank forests," sighed the lifebearer sincerely, leaning against the front door with a hand absently resting on his little baby bump.  "I thought we would _never_ get rid of them.”

Ronin chuckled and approached him as the lifebearer turned around and peeked out the side window to watch the press load up their vans and leave the premises.  He embraced Evindar from behind and he rubbed his gently rounding belly through the wine-colored velvet shirt he wore.

"It wasn’t _that_ bad, was it?  I kind of enjoyed getting the celebrity treatment, myself.”  He brushed his lips against the spot beneath his mate’s left ear and he smiled as the action provoked a little shiver of pleasure. 

"That’s right, this is all novel to you," sighed Evindar.  He reached up and behind to comb his fingers through the sire’s collar-length, brass-blond hair.  "It loses its charm after so many interviews and photo shoots—especially when you get asked the same questions repeatedly."

Ronin nodded understanding.  “I won’t let it go to my head.  I’m just glad we’re getting our lives back on track again.”

A little more than three months had passed since the Stalker case was brought to a close and Vroyce was locked up in psychiatric care.  His lawyer had already tried to appeal the court’s decision several times, but thankfully the Rhuidhim justice system persevered and Zol’rin stayed safely incarcerated.  Unfortunately, the Ulvari-vash and their allies had yet to locate the contract killer Vroyce had hired.  It was of some comfort to the couple that “Sandman” had already proven his interest in harming Ronin didn’t extend past the contract.  The whole affair had seemed like it was purely business to the mystery sire, and there was no reason to believe he’d try to finish what he started, now that he stood to gain no profit from it.

Ronin breathed in his companion’s scent and he reveled in the silken feeling of his hair against his cheek.  “I love your hair this way,” he murmured.  “Thank you for growing it back out again.  Not that you weren’t hot with the haircut you got in Avras, but I’ve decided I really prefer it like this.”

Evindar smiled quietly and leaned back against him, threading his fingers with Ronin’s over the swell of his abdomen.  Lashran hair tended to grow fast and his was already past his shoulders, again.  He’d trimmed off the black tips as it grew and it was now solid auburn.  Today, he wore it tied back in a ponytail, loosely styled on top with a few locks hanging artfully loose around his face. 

"I like your hair short," he admitted.  He turned his head for a kiss and when Ronin obliged, he teasingly traced the sire’s lips with the tip of his tongue. 

"Hey now," warned Ronin huskily, his mouth smiling against Evindar’s, "we still have to eat dinner.  Don’t get me worked up."

"We can eat afterwards," suggested the singer, his voice deepening with desire as it always did when he got excited.  He turned in his mate’s arms and embraced him around the waist, brushing his lips cajolingly back and forth over Ronin’s.  "Now that we have some privacy again, I think I’d like a demonstration of our agreement."

Ronin fought a laugh, though his body didn’t find it the least bit funny.  “I seem to recall that part of that ‘agreement’ was that you put dietary and prenatal health needs first.”

Evindar grunted with annoyance and brushed the growing bulge in his pants against Ronin’s thigh, subtly emphasizing his condition.  “You promised I wouldn’t go frustrated, love.  Don’t be a bad mate.”

Ronin embraced him and drew him close, stroking up and down his spine as his crotch strained in sympathy.  “I’ve got to say it…I _love_ how horny you are when you’re pregnant.  I was afraid it would go the other way, but you’ve—”

Evindar’s plush, delectable lips covered his demandingly, cutting off his statement.  The gifted hands got to work immediately, curving around front to unbutton his shirt and pants in conjunction.  Ronin was chuckling even as he ravished his mate’s willing mouth and began to reciprocate.  Various articles of clothing fluttered to the floor and the couple meandered away from the foyer and into the lounge, lost in one another.

Moving back home to Rhuidhim was the best decision Ronin had made all year, and Evindar proved that to him each day.

~xox~

"Alistair, get up!"  The demand was accompanied by urgent shaking, dragging him rudely out of his dreams and into reality.

"Whu…baby, what are you doing?"  He covered his mouth on a yawn and dragged sleep-mussed, dark auburn bangs away from his eyes.  He blinked at the bassist—who had straddled his lap on the recliner and was looking down at him impatiently. 

"You’ve got to get up and motor, sexy," explained Orindel, his pale lavender gaze uncommonly serious. 

"Orin, you know I didn’t get home until late this morning," grumbled Alistair peevishly.  "I need my sleep!  What’s so bloody impor—"

"My sire is outside the front of the building and he’s coming up to see me," interrupted Orindel urgently.  He combed aside a couple of loose braids that hung over his face and he poked the sire in the ribs, making him jump.  "Like, right now.  You need to get that tight ass of yours out the window before he comes up."

"Out the…window?" repeated Alistair dumbly.  His gaze shifted to the nearby window and he frowned.  "Wait, when did your sire get here, and why do I have to go out the window?  Did you tell him something about me that makes it necessary for me to hide from him?"

Orindel sighed and tongued the little silver hoop piercing the right side of his lower lip.  It was a new piercing and he had developed the habit of playing with it when he was in thought.  “Well, no.  I haven’t told him anything about you…at all.  Just go out the window and use the fire escape to get down to the street.  I’ll call you up when he’s gone.” 

Still disoriented, the sire scratched his head and tried not to let his feelings get hurt by the admission.  “Okay, so you don’t talk about me when you get to speak with him, but that’s no reason why I should—”

"He doesn’t know about you," interrupted Orindel with a wince.  He peered at him with the kind of grimacing expression people gave when they were about to rip an adhesive off someone else’s skin; something between sympathy and guilt.  "Like…at all." 

"What exactly does _that_ mean?”  Alistair was beginning to wonder if he was still asleep and dreaming this whole conversation.

Orindel blew a sigh and chewed his bottom lip, managing to look endearing and appealing at once.  “I kind of never told him I got hitched, man.  He doesn’t know I have a spouse.”

Alistair’s frown returned full-force.  “But, we’ve been bonded for over _two years_!  How could you _not_ tell your own sire about it?”

Orin muttered something that sounded almost like: “He ate a text”. 

"What?"

"I said he hates architects," answered the bassist with an apologetic look on his face.  "And he’s been wanting me to hook up with the son of one of the other guild lords for the longest time."

"What does he have against architects?" sputtered the sire, ignoring for the moment the unsavory news that Orindel’s sire wanted him to bond with some Zarnian guy.

Orindel shrugged and cast a worried look toward the hall.  “He got screwed over by one a few years back, when he commissioned him to build an office for him at the edge of town.  He’s hated them ever since.”

"So you’re ashamed of me?"

That got the bassist’s attention.  He scowled at Alistair and he pinched his nipple through his shirt, making him yelp.  “Shut your mouth, bitch.  I’m trying to protect your ass…or have you forgotten what my sire does for a living?”

Actually, until that moment Alistair _had_ forgotten.  It wasn’t something they spoke about much and it wasn’t something he preferred to think about, either.  Zevian Saber was a Zarnian crime lord.  In fact, he happened to be the guild boss of the Western island of Oricus.  Apparently, Orindel’s name was a derivative of the place he was born.  The bassist’s father had died in some form of guild dispute shortly after he was born, and Mr. Saber allegedly tracked the responsible parties to their lair and shot the place—and everyone inside of it—full of holes.  The story was legendary in Zarn.

Was he _really_ going to stick around to tell this man to his face that he—an architect—had been banging his son for the past two years?

The sound of someone knocking on the front door cinched it for him.  “Out the window, I go.”

~xox~

Alistair ran into a bit of a problem when he got out on the fire escape; the ladder was jammed.  He contemplated the drop to the ground and he estimated that the risk of breaking a leg or worse was too great to try dropping from the third floor.  He half-turned to look through the window and he saw his mate disappear into the hallway.  He looked up at the adjoining balcony, contemplating climbing all the way up to the roof and going to the other side to scale the fire escapes there. 

Unfortunately, there was no ladder leading up to the roof, from what he could tell.  Alistair rolled his eyes heavenward and sighed at the cloudy sky.  He supposed he could just wait outside on the fire escape balcony until Mr. Saber left, or he could wait for the opportunity to get his mate’s attention for help getting safely down to the ground.  Maybe Orindel could construct a rope for him out of—

The skies opened up above him and rain began to fall in heavy sheets, soaking the sire within moments.  He glared upward again with narrowed eyes.  “Oh, come _on_!”

He huddled up against the wall—though in truth, it was too late to try and stay dry.  Wyndrah seemed to want him wet, miserable and anxious today.  His waist-length, thick dark hair hung like a drenched blanket over his shoulders and down his back as the rain came in at an angle and beat against his body.  He spit some water out of his mouth and crouched by the window, cupping his hands over his eyes to shield them from the downpour as he peered inside to see what was happening. 

~xox~

Orindel opened the door and looked up at his sire, glad to see him despite the awkward timing.  Zevian was wearing a stylish gray trench coat, a white crew shirt, black leather pants and dress boots.  His chestnut-brown hair was still highlighted with blond and it was pulled back into a ponytail to fall down to his mid-back, with a few braids woven into it here and there.  His smooth bronze skin was slightly darker from a tan and he wore a pair of dark, octagonal shades over his eyes. He had several small gold hoops lining the outer rims of both of his gracefully pointed ears and he was as youthfully handsome as he was three years ago, when Orindel saw him last.

"Well are you going to invite your old man in or not?" asked Zevian in a low voice, tugging his glasses down to peer over the top of them at Orindel.  His aqua gaze was still just as piercing as ever, but the effect wasn’t as dramatic on his son as it tended to be on others.  

Orindel grinned broadly up at Zevian and despite his concerns over what the man might do if he found out about Alistair, he hugged him tightly.  A low chuckle rumbled in the guild lord’s chest as he returned the embrace and ruffled the lifebearer’s wild blond hair affectionately.

"Yo, Dad," greeted the bassist.  He heard thunder rumble outside but he paid it no mind.  He grunted as Zevian held him tighter and lifted him a little in response. 

Zevian lowered him back to his feet and loosened his embrace, pulling back to study him.  He propped his sunglasses on his head and he cupped Orindel’s face in his hands.  He frowned at the new piercing adorning his lip.  “Why would you want to fuck up such a pretty face with all that metal?  If you get too close to a magnet, your head will stick to it.”

Orindel smirked, used to his sire’s criticism over his piercings.  “It’s just jewelry, Dad.  Nobody complains except you.”

Zevian grunted.  “If I ever find out you’ve pierced your mouth shut, there’s going to be an intervention.  Count on it.”

"Yeah, yeah," grumbled Orindel. 

Zevian smiled and stroked Orindel’s cheek briefly.  “You look so much like your father.”

Orindel felt a warning lump in his throat.  The damnable thing always made its appearance whenever he got the chance to speak with his sire face to face and the subject of his father came up.  He never got the chance to get to know Urahis before he died, but Zevian made sure he grew up knowing what a wonderful man his father was.  The pain Orindel felt when the subject came up wasn’t for himself, but for his sire.  Zevian had never loved anyone the way he’d loved Urahis, and he probably never would. 

"So," Orindel said with a swallow, "Not that I’m not jazzed to see you again and all, but what are you doing here?  You could have called me before you were five minutes away from my place, you know.  It would have given me a little time to clean up a little."

"Hmm, ‘clean up’."  Zevian cast a look around at the foyer and he walked through the hallway to the living room.  The heels of his boots tapped against the hardwood floors as he entered the living room and inspected the place.   

Orindel stared up at his sire’s back as he followed behind him and his eyes widened when Zevian walked over to the fireplace against the southern wall.  There were a couple of framed pictures of he and Alistair on the mantle, as well as a digital picture frame that continually flashed vacation shots from their first Vashekna anniversary.  The bassist barely resisted the compulsion to smack himself in the forehead.  

"Who is this?"  Zevian picked up the photo of Alistair wearing an oversized top-hat at one of the band’s after-parties.  Orindel was beside him in a half-embrace, holding up a shot with a wink. 

"Uh, just a friend of the band," lied the bassist.    

Zevian glanced at him, his expression unreadable.  “A friend, eh?  I don’t remember ever meeting him.”

"I met him after I left Zarn," answered Orindel—another lie.  "He works on the stage lighting and stuff, you know?"

Zevian inspected the other pictures, including the digital frame.  “He’s in a lot of these photos.  You must like him.”

"He’s okay."  Orindel tried to sound very blasé about it.  Thank gods he didn’t have any Vashekna photos framed and hanging anywhere…but then, his and Alistair’s bonding ceremony had been more like a big keg party anyhow.  "He’s got a knack for getting himself into photos.  I think he’s an attention whore."

"I see."  Zevian’s gaze lingered on a snapshot of Orindel and Evindar.  "Evindar looks great in these.  Is he still with that doctor?"

Orindel began to get suspicious and he couldn’t contain a frown.  “Yeah.  You keep up with the news though, don’t you?”

"I just wanted to hear your take on it," answered Zevian.  "You know how the media likes to exaggerate things."

"Uh-huh.  So, you never told me what you’re doing in town, Dad."

Zevian smirked at him, his aqua gaze sharp and penetrating.  “I came to check up on my son.  Oh, and I have some unrelated business, too.  You haven’t offered me anything to drink yet, Orin.  That’s not how I raised you.”

"Sorry," apologized the lifebearer, uncommonly flustered.  "I’ve got some beer in the fridge.  Otherwise there’s some juice, if you don’t want water."

"Beer will be fine," answered Zevian.  "Which way is your bathroom?  I’ve got to drain my pipes."

"Second door to the right, down the hallway." Orindel gestured at the corridor and he cursed inwardly when he realized there were yet _more_ pictures of him and Alistair as a couple, hanging on the walls. 

He lunged for his sire and grabbed him by the arm before the man could take more than two steps.  “But you don’t want to use that toilet,” he said quickly.  “Something’s wrong with the flusher.  Use the one in the laundry room, instead.”

Zevian frowned openly at him as he started to usher him in the opposite direction, toward the kitchen and the adjoining laundry room.  “You have a toilet in your laundry room?”

Orindel nodded.  “Yeah my mate…uh…my old roommate used to take these monumentally long shits. I got tired of having to wait so long to take a piss sometimes, so I had it installed.”

 ”You need a roommate, with your income?  To live in a place like _this_?”  Zevian cast a frowning look around. 

"Not anymore," assured Orindel hastily.  "I just like this apartment."

Zevian sighed.  “If you say so.  If you’re having money troubles, I—”

"No, it’s cool.  Like I said, I just like it here and I could afford a mansion in the suburbs, if I wanted to.  Go pee." 

Orindel directed his sire to the laundry room and practically shoved him in there.  When the door was shut, he cast a wild-eyed, half-panicked look around and he ran back to the T-junction in the hallway to take down all the couple pictures hanging there.  He could hide them under the bed or something, until his sire was gone. 

He barely lifted the first one off its hook before he heard insistent rapping at the window, coming from the living room.  Another deep rumble of thunder rattled the panes as Orindel went to investigate.  He blinked when he saw his spouse’s miserable, soaked face peering in at him from the fire escape balcony, resembling a drenched, miserable tomcat.  Orindel hurried over to the window and lifted it, fighting back an impulsive giggle even as he wanted to throttle Alistair for sticking around.

"What are you still _doing_ here?” he demanded.  “You were supposed to scat down the fire escape!”

"Yeah, that plan isn’t going to work," answered Alistair unhappily.  "The ladder is jammed."

Orindel cast a suspicious look at the ladder in question.  “Fuck.”  He looked over his shoulder at the interior of the living room.  “Well…shit…dammit!  Get in here and hurry to the bedroom, before Dad finishes shaking off his wanker!”

~xox~

Alistair wasn’t about to argue with his mate.  He climbed back in from the balcony and he almost sprawled over the floor when his shoe caught on the ledge of the window, but Orindel helped him.  The bassist manhandled him with surprising strength for such a small man.  He ushered Alistair to their bedroom and stuffed him into the closet before the sire could mutter a single question.  Almost as an afterthought, he tugged the door open briefly and leaned in to give Alistair a quick smooch on the lips.

"Now keep your gob shut," warned Orindel.  "I’ll get him out of here as soon as I can, baby."

"Okay, but—"

The closet door slammed in his face before the architect could ask his mate where he was going to send his sire to get him out of the way.  Alistair sighed and tried not to get the hanging clothes wet as he waited and listened.  He heard a bit of frantic scrambling, a bang, some cussing and then the sound of the laundry room toilet flushing.  The bedroom door shut with a slam as Orindel left the room after doing whatever the hell he’d been doing. 

Alistair listened closely as Orindel carried on a conversation with his sire.  Zevian had a pleasant speaking voice and he spoke in Lashran as he conversed with his son.  His Zarnian slang wasn’t as crude to the ears as Orindel’s…possibly because he tempered it with a more sophisticated vocabulary.  Alistair tensed as the voices came closer to the bedroom and he heard the guild lord insisting on seeing the room.

"I remember how you used to keep your room when you were a teenager," Mr. Saber was saying to Orindel.  "A few scattered clothes and an un-made bed aren’t going to bother me.  You aren’t trying to _hide_ anything from me, are you son?”

"You think I have anything to hide?"  Orindel’s voice was challenging.  "I’m an adult, Dad.  I don’t need your approval to live how I want."

"Then show me your room.  What’s the fear?" 

Alistair grimaced and he instinctively backed up as the bedroom door opened.  The clothes hanging on the bar shifted as he backed into them and he was forced to stop, or risk knocking some of them off the rack.  He held as still as possible and he silently prayed that Orindel’s sire would lose interest after a glance of the shambles that was their bedroom.  Zevian’s responsive comment to the sight was almost comical.

"How could I raise a son that sleeps in such a pigsty?"

Orindel didn’t sound amused.  “It’s just clutter, man.  See?  A lot of this stuff is music composition and shit.”

"Then keep it in a folder, or put it all on a data disc."  Zevian’s tone was dryly amused.  "This sort of disorganization would get you fired, if you worked for me.  I’m almost afraid to see what sort of shit might fly out of your closet—"

For one brief, horrifying second, the closet doors opened up and Alistair caught a quick glimpse of Zevian Saber—who had his head turned as he spoke and fortunately didn’t see the drenched, wide-eyed architect hiding in his son’s closet.  Orindel hastily interposed and the sight of the mob boss was blessedly obscured as the flimsy doors slapped shut again. 

"You don’t need to go through my closet," insisted Orindel. 

"That’s a matter of opinion," countered Zevian.  "Have you seen what you’re wearing?  I’d like to see if my son has anything in his wardrobe that isn’t ripped or made of denim."

The doors were pulled open again and Alistair shrank against the wardrobe as his mate once more distracted the other sire. 

"Dad, cut it _out_!  You said as long as I can take care of myself, you wouldn’t get in the way!”

"Yes, I _did_ say that,” agreed Zevian, still looking down at the lifebearer.  He was a little above average height, perhaps a half an inch taller than Alistair.  “But I have to be sure you _are_ taking care of yourself, don’t I?” 

Zevian reached into his coat and while still looking directly at Orindel, he drew and aimed a slim, compact black pistol right between Alistair’s eyes.  His gaze didn’t waver from his son’s horrified face and his aim at Alistair’s head held steady.  He looked down at Alistair after a moment and the architect swore those vivid eyes stared straight into his soul.

"Stop cowering there," advised Zevian.  His sensitive looking mouth compressed, betraying some irritation.  "I think we need to have a talk."

Alistair’s sire had always stressed one very important rule when he found out his son was traveling to the outer islands of Zarn to see the sights: Never argue with a man pointing a gun at you.

~xox~

_Later on at South Bridge studios in Valkyrie Falls:_

"Wow, he looks _great_ ,” enthused Rhiannon as she looked through the digital photos on Auric’s phone.  “I don’t think it’s possible for Evindar to _not_ look sexy!  His partner looks good, too.  Oh, I love this one!  You can see his cute little baby bump!”  She tilted the phone toward Trinity to show her the photo of Evindar leaning back against Ronin, with the sire embracing him from behind.  Ronin’s hands were resting over the swell of his mate’s belly protectively and he was smiling handsomely at the camera with obvious satisfaction.

"The longer hair suits him," agreed Trinity after giving the photo a glance.  Her sapphire eyes lingered just long enough to take in the details, and then she looked between Auric and Rhiannon expectantly.  "And they look very happy.  On the subject of _us_ now…are we going to go out tonight, or not?”

Auric chuckled and retrieved his phone from Rhiannon.  “I’ll send you a couple of the pictures,” he promised.  “Let go of my phone.”

With a sigh, Rhiannon relinquished the device.  She blew a wayward auburn curl out of her eyes and favored him with a dimpled grin.  “Thanks, Auric.  I know I’m _such_ a fangirl.  Hey, if you ever get any nice piccies of the rest of the band, send them my way too, would you?  Especially any juicy ones of Shade and Lorik.  Yummy.”

"Would one of you please answer my question?"  Trinity’s lovely, ebony features were beginning to look cross as she watched the two of them banter and checked her watch.  "Everyone is clearing out for the night and _I_ for one don’t want to stand in line longer than necessary, if we’re going to hit the exclusive clubs.”

"Don’t get your thong in a bunch," advised Auric teasingly.  "We’re still going out.  The great thing about working in a studio is you don’t have to worry about gussying up when you get off work.  Let’s hit the town, ladies." 

He offered an arm to each of them and the women linked up with him.  They made an odd if attractive combination, between the gorgeous blond lifebearer, the petite human female and the tall, dusky-skinned lashran female.  People stared at them in passing as they stepped out of the studio and a couple of cameras flashed.

"Ugh…you just _had_ to get more recognized,” complained Rhiannon to Auric as she squinted against the flash.  “Didn’t you?”

"It’s not just me," he protested with a gesture at a cameraman who was focusing all of his shots on Trinity.  "Trin’s got some blame in this, too."

"Actually, I’ve only gained more recognition since your cousin came into our lives," countered Trinity.  "Not that I’m complaining about the increase of modeling offers, but this added fame is a direct result of our involvement with Evindar."

Rhiannon was surprised when one of the reporters took a couple of snaps of her, too.  “You think so?  Cool!  I think I’m getting famous, too!”

"Okay girls, let’s just get out of here," advised Auric.  "I’m going to have to look into buying a car," he muttered under his breath. 

He guided his female companions to the street and he tried not to laugh when Rhiannon blew a kiss for the cameras.  He could just _imagine_ the sort of rumors that would doubtless spring up over his relationship with his two female companions.  He hailed a cab, but as it pulled up to the curb he noticed a familiar, tall sire standing near the bus stop a few meters away and he stopped, smiling at him.  The man looked back at him and he cleared his throat uncomfortably, adjusting the long black coat that he wore to ward off the chill of upcoming winter. 

"Mr. Rayne?  Do you have a moment?"  Dr. Ketus’ voice was gentle as always and slightly uncertain, as if he feared he might be imposing by calling out to him. 

~ _"For you, I’ve got at least ten,"_ ~ thought Auric to himself as he admired Dr. Ketus’ noble bone structure and beautiful, haunted eyes.  He behaved himself and remembered that despite the man’s chosen career in life, Eredin Ketus was shy by nature.  Inexplicably reminded of a white stag that could flee at any moment if he made the wrong move, Auric turned to his companions.

"Ladies, you take this cab to the Neon Jungle and I’ll meet up with you there in a little while, okay?"

"But we’re supposed to be going out _together_ ,” Rhiannon reminded him with a frown.  She spotted Dr. Ketus and as she looked between him and her lashran friend, her attitude immediately changed.  “Oh.  Oh!  Awwww!”

Trinity quickly brought the situation under control, before Rhiannon could romance herself into cardiac arrest over the implications of Dr. Ketus’ presence.  She straightened her red cocktail dress and urged her companion into the waiting taxi.  “My gods, you’re embarrassing.  Stop that and get into the cab, Rhia, before I decide never to go out in public with you again.”

~xox~

Auric waved at the girls as the black-checkered vehicle took off with them and he approached Dr. Ketus with a smile.  “So what brings you over to this part of town tonight, Doc?”   

Dr. Ketus looked at him uncertainly, then at the press that was still hanging around taking snapshots.  “I was just…passing by and I thought…I wondered…”

Auric frowned.  The man was getting more spooked by the second and it didn’t take empathic abilities to see it.  He silently cursed the media and he was beginning to understand why Evindar always seemed so detached when they latched onto him.  It was hard to get excited over the recognition when one couldn’t have a simple conversation without nosy people trying to record every moment of it.  He ordinarily didn’t mind, but they were going to drive Dr. Ketus away and he didn’t want that.

Auric approached the tall, lean sire—which was getting more flustered and nervous by the second.  The sun had nearly set and the city lights cast Eredin’s features in sharp relief, emphasizing the slightly gaunt structure of his face and the shape of his mouth.

"It’s been a while," Auric said in an encouraging tone.  _~”Please, don’t run away.~_ ”

"Yes, it has."  Eredin’s sea-green eyes lowered, his thick lashes concealing his thoughts from view.  "I…meant to contact you sooner, but I didn’t want to trouble you."

The cool evening breeze wafted by and it blew some of Eredin’s pewter-colored hair across his face, veiling his features further.  Auric itched to reach up and brush aside the locks, but he stuck his hands into his pockets instead and bounced on his heels a little.

"I don’t know why you thought it would be any trouble.  I liked working with you.  So, is it something important?  I’m guessing it doesn’t have anything to do with my medical charts."

"No," agreed Eredin, "nothing like that.  I would have contacted you immediately.  This is…personal."

"Yeah?"  Auric began to perk up.  "Personal as in ‘good’, or personal as in ‘I can’t stand you and I hope you’ll never come to me again if you change your mind about the FF program’?"

Eredin blinked at him, inadvertently dazzling the model with the way his lashes fluttered over his expressive eyes.  “I…uh…it isn’t related to the program at all, Mr. Rayne.”

"Call me Auric," insisted the lifebearer.  "We’re not in a business relationship anymore, remember?"

"Auric," rephrased Eredin.  "Very well.  I just came to…to ask you if…if you…" His cheeks were going ruddy, and it obviously wasn’t from the chill in the air.

"Yes?"  Auric did his best to ignore the flashing cameras and the growing audience of curious passers-by.  "It’s okay, I’m not going to bite you."

Eredin’s gaze went flat and hopeless as he looked around at the audience.  “D-do you have a good…dental plan?”

Auric’s face fell with confusion he couldn’t quite disguise.  “Huh?”

"Dental plan," repeated Eredin, keeping his gaze lowered and looking somewhat ashamed.  "I just thought I should check, seeing as your career…teeth are part of it…and smiles."

At once, Auric understood what was happening and he thought Eredin was possibly the cutest goddamned thing on Wyndrah.  The body language, the aura and the behavior all fit.  Bless his quiet little heart, Dr. Ketus had just chickened out of asking him on a date.

"I’ve got a great dental plan," Auric assured him gently, struggling not to laugh for fear he might take it the wrong way.  "And it’s really cool of you to check on that.  Say, why don’t you come out with the girls and I tonight, if you’ve got nothing better to do?  I don’t know if it’s your thing, but we’re about to hit some dance clubs and we might veg out on some movies, afterwards."

"I’m not really a dance club person," murmured the doctor with a nervous glance at one of the photographers.  "I appreciate the offer, though."

Auric wasn’t about to push him.  He’d established contact outside the workplace and that was an important step.  “Then what about coffee, sometime?  There’s a great little bistro near my apartment building.  Maybe we could even have lunch.”

Eredin nodded.  “Yes, coffee would be…nice.  You have my home number?”

Auric resisted a grin.  “Only your office one.”  He pulled out his phone.  “Here, give it to me and I’ll tap it in.”

~xox~

Eredin’s heart was hammering so hard in his chest by the time he got back into his car, he feared it might burst through his ribcage and smack against the windshield. 

“‘Dental plan’?  Why did I _say_ that?”

In an uncommon gesture of frustration, the sire gripped the wheel of his car and thunked his forehead against it.  “I loathe myself.”

He could have gone out with Auric and his friends, thereby opening the way for further interactions with the blond and possibly setting himself up to ask him out on a real date.  Instead, he’d allowed his own fear of rejection and the presence of onlookers to spoil his attempt at striking up some form of romantic rapport with the gorgeous model.  He’d spent not weeks, but _months_ gathering the courage to approach Auric and this was the best he could do?

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out and found a single text message from Ronin.  _"Well?"_

Eredin sighed and responded.

_"I lost my nerve and asked him about his dental plan."_

It took a moment for the other sire to respond.  _"Not good.  His response?"_

_"He told me his was good and he invited me for coffee.  Sorry Ronin I am no good at this."_

He waited for a response, but several minutes of silence passed.  Hoping it was just a connection issue and not a result of his friend being so disgusted with him he didn’t want to talk to him, Eredin sighed again and started his car.  His phone rang and he grabbed it up with a frown before putting it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"You idiot," Ronin’s voice said bluntly.

"Thank you, that makes me feel much better."

"Don’t you understand?" pressed Ronin.  "Even bumbling and chickening out like you did, you managed to procure your date.  Hold on a minute…"

Eredin heard Evindar’s voice murmur something in the background, and then Ronin spoke again.  “Evin says you should bring cheese.”

Eredin’s eyebrows couldn’t have lifted any higher if he tried.  “Cheese…with coffee?”

Ronin chuckled.  “Apparently, he likes exotic cheeses.  You should pick up a gift selection and offer it to him, when you go on your date.”

"It’s just coffee," corrected Eredin. 

"But it’s also a foot in the door," insisted Ronin.  "A little gift might sweeten the deal and make it easier to ask him on a real date, understand?  Just be casual about it.  Don’t make a big deal out of it."

Eredin tried to picture himself presenting Auric with a tray of pretentious cheeses and being nonchalant about it, but he just couldn’t see it.  “How do you casually give someone cheese?”

The other sire sighed.  “You hand it over and say; ‘I thought you might like some cheese.’  Tell him you got two trays on special and realized you couldn’t eat them both alone.  That ought to do it.”

"I don’t know," Eredin said dubiously.  "Expensive cheese seems like more of a wine tasting thing, or at least a second date gift."

"Why do you hate me?"  Ronin sounded like he was ready to grind his teeth.

"I don’t hate you," objected Eredin, "I just think presenting him with a cheese tray on a simple coffee outing is inappropriate."

"Then save the cheese for the actual date," grumbled Ronin, "Just make sure you ask him on one, when you sit down for your bloody coffee."

Eredin started to smile a little.  “Sorry to have frustrated you.  I _do_ appreciate you staying available for advice at this hour.  What time is it over there, again?”

"It’s nearly midnight," answered Ronin, "But Evindar and I were having a late night anyway.  We’re both still a little wound up from the press day we had."

"I look forward to reading the article when it gets printed," assured Eredin, finally calming down from his stressful encounter with Auric.  "Thank you again for helping me get through this, Ronin.  Thank Evindar for the cheese idea, too."

"We’re both just glad you’ve finally mustered up the gumption to ask someone out," assured Ronin.  "If you start feeling like you might chicken out, text me."

"Okay." 

~xox~

He still wasn’t sure how it happened.  One minute, they were going over case files pertaining to the manhunt and the next, Haden looked at him with those piercing wolf’s eyes of his and they were all over each other.  It was far too late to put a stop to it now, seeing as they were in bed together naked and Haden was spooned up against him.  Rather than do the professional thing and remind his partner that they should be working, Glaive murmured husky encouragement to him and synchronized with his motions.  Haden fondled the lishere’s swollen arousal and grunted against his ear as he moved inside of him.  His hips snapped with deliberate force when he drove his length into Glaive’s body, resulting in a delightfully firm nudge against that internal gland that made the silver-haired man’s body sing with pleasure. 

"Oh…right there, mate," groaned Glaive when the next thrust came in at the perfect angle.  "Keep…going…just like that!"

Haden eagerly cooperated, making Glaive’s eyes roll with bliss as the steady, firm pumps of his cock eased him toward the inevitable finish line.  That was just _one_ of the things he loved about Haden; his compliance in bed.  The man was happy to do just about whatever it took to please his partner and that made Glaive all the more willing to do the same in return.  He turned his head for a kiss and he closed his hand over the pale one stroking the hard staff of his arousal, guiding Haden’s motions and encouraging him to use a little more pressure. 

"Fuck, you’re good," complimented Glaive breathlessly, his voice hitching against the knight’s lips between kisses. 

He wasn’t just giving lip service, either.  Deciding he should reward his companion for his efforts, Glaive dared to try creative use of his spirit singing abilities.  He’d never used them this way with Haden before, because for one, it seemed like improper use of his gifts and for another, he wasn’t sure how the human would react to having his senses manipulated like this for greater pleasure.  Glaive eased into it as carefully as he could, distracted with pleasure as he was.  All he did was croon silently to his companion’s spirit, encouraging it to attune more deeply with his body.  The result was a greater sense of pleasure and Haden’s breathless moan of wonder proved it was working as intended.

"Do you like that?" questioned Glaive, twisting a little more to look at him with passion-glazed eyes.  The expression on that handsome, strained face gave him every reason to believe he did, but Glaive wanted to be sure.

"Wh-what did you…do?"  Haden began to thrust with more force and his jaw tensed with an impending orgasm.  "I feel…it’s like everything is more intense, all the sudden."

"Just a little boost," panted Glaive with a pleased smirk.  "I’m taking it easy on you, hotshot.  I…unh!"

Haden kissed him hard and the pace of his thrusts quickened and deepened, to the point where he was riding the edge of pain.  Glaive didn’t mind.  The pleasure was far greater and despite the near desperation of his movements, Haden was still mindful to keep fondling him.  A calloused thumb stroked the slippery knob of the lishere’s glans, tracing the little slit in the tip and making the organ twitch.  The knight’s tongue danced with Glaive’s demandingly, ravishing it like he was ravishing the rest of his body.  Glaive allowed him to dominate the kiss, easily falling into the submissive role for the encounter.  He loved an aggressive Haden as much as he adored a submissive one, and the sex was always satisfying.

Their cries grew rougher, deeper and louder as they strained and writhed against each other.  Glaive’s hand swung out and he knocked over the novelty “wave machine” sitting on the nearby bedside table, but he didn’t care.  He came first, and the resulting spasms made him clench rhythmically around his companion’s hard sex, pushing him over the edge as well.  Haden let go of his cock and he embraced him tightly around the waist as he filled him, groaning unsteadily with relief.  Glaive smiled sharply at the sensation of his companion’s thick length bucking inside of him and he rested a hand over the arm thrown about his waist. 

"That’s much better," sighed the lishere in satisfaction as he and Haden collapsed together in bliss. 

"Yup."  Haden kissed his shoulder and sighed, his warm breath stirring Glaive’s silver hair.  "So, what were we supposed to be doing, again?"

"Not fucking," answered Glaive with a smug grin, "but considering we’re not officially on the clock, who’s going to complain?"

"Not me," assured Haden.  He kissed the lishere’s jaw and sighed, before resting his cheek against his shoulder.  "I guess we should get back to combing those case files, huh?"

 ”The sooner we get it done, the sooner we’ll be finished.”

Haden chuckled.  “Man, that was lame.”

"Shut up.  It’s your fault my brain is sluggish, now."

"Hey, _you_ kissed _me_ first,” protested the knight.

"But you looked at me with those sexy eyes of yours," reminded Glaive, "in that ‘come hither’ way you do."

Haden snorted.  “Whatever.” 

He eased his softening flesh out of the lishere’s body and gave him one last kiss before climbing out of the contemporary style platform bed.  Glaive admired the sight of his pale, naked ass as Haden bent over to pick up the first article of his discarded clothing he found; his shirt.  There was something amusing about seeing the man slip the t-shirt over his head and wander around naked from the waist down.  Glaive snorted and Haden shot a look over his shoulder at him as he picked up his boxer briefs.

"Are you going to get dressed and help, or are you going to lay there and snicker?"  The knight’s dimpled grin contradicted his stern question.

"I thought I’d snicker for a few minutes and then clean myself up, actually."  Glaive looked down at his tawny body meaningfully.  "Unlike yours, my cum had nowhere to go except all over me and the sheets."

Haden grimaced a little.  “Point taken.  I’ll get started and you can join me when you finish up.”

Glaive smiled at him—something he found himself doing a lot of, since meeting Agent Wolfe.  “You’re a peach.” 

He watched the knight exit the bedroom door and he sighed.  As much as he tried to play it off, Haden was getting frustrated with their latest assignment—like everyone else in on the manhunt.  They were pooling their efforts admirably and the other operatives assigned to the case also had files to scan through, but Sandman was very good at staying hidden.  

"We’ll find him eventually, mate," whispered Glaive to his partner, though he was out of earshot now.  "I’m more concerned with how we’ll bring him in, once we do."

~xox~

Ammiteo was just on his way out of the building when he passed by the gym and saw a familiar, black-haired lashran agent out the corner of his eye.  He stopped by the clear glass doors and watched as the only lifebearer field agent in his department did some stretches.  Idrisar was shirtless, in a pair of cobalt track pants with bare feet.  He moved gracefully over the exercise mat as he worked out, concentrating on flexibility.  His supple body glistened with perspiration under the light as he worked out and his lean, defined muscles moved in perfect conjunction with each other.  He had the balance of a feline and Ammiteo admired how he managed to hold onto his ankle, lift one leg up and behind him while balancing on one foot, without using anything for support. 

Idrisar bent forward and it seemed impossible that anyone could maintain that pose for more than a few seconds without wavering, but he made it look easy.  He could have been a ballet dancer, if he wanted to.  Seeing the slight grimace of pain on his face, Ammiteo realized that the leg he was stretching was the one that Sandman had injured, months ago.  The road to recovery took longer than usual, because the blade that impaled Idrisar’s thigh had been coated with a necrosis poison.  Now the wound was healed with only a minor scar to show for it, but the muscles obviously hadn’t quite fully regained their strength and elasticity, yet. 

Reacting on impulse as much as a desire to support one of his best agents, Ammiteo walked through the doors and greeted the other man.  “You’re staying late today, I see.”

Idrisar released his position and stood upright, giving the director a nod of respect.  “Yes, Sir.  I’ve found I get more exercise done in here if I wait for all of the normal shifts to go home for the day.  I suppose I could do the stretching in my own house, but I move onto the exercise equipment afterwards.”  He gave a nod in the general direction of the various machines lining the walls—some of which were brand new purchases, thanks to the extra spending money the department had from Evindar’s generous contribution. 

Ammiteo was curious as to why he wouldn’t get as much done if he were exercising in the presence of others, but he remembered that his cousin liked to spend time in the gym during slow hours.  He frowned.  “Agent Blackbird, has Agent Vandrin been giving you reason to avoid using this facility during normal operating hours?”

Idrisar didn’t quite meet his eyes.  “No Sir.”

"You can be honest," pressed the director, crossing his muscular arms over his chest.  His purple gaze swept over the lifebearer briefly and he tried not to allow his vision to linger on the way that toned, bronze torso gleamed under the light.  "If he’s been inappropriate, it needs to be addressed."

Idrisar sighed, his pale gaze meeting Ammiteo’s.  He shrugged and sank onto the mat gracefully, to sit with his legs straight out before him.  “Director, your cousin isn’t any worse than some other sires I’ve dealt with in my time.  If I can’t handle a few sexual innuendos and obnoxious jokes, I’m in the wrong career.”

"You’re a special combat agent," reminded Ammiteo, stepping closer to the mat as the agent began to stretch again.  "Your job isn’t about putting up with inappropriate advances and comments."

"No?"  Idrisar looked up at him with a small, crooked smile.  His dark bangs covered his left eye.  "Surely you haven’t forgotten how many undercover assignments I’ve done in the past that required me to do just that, Sir."

"Using your sensuality to get close to suspects isn’t the same thing as being alienated by your coworkers for it," Ammiteo said stubbornly.  He looked away, wishing he’d chosen to say it differently as the lifebearer’s appealing lips parted.  "You have as much right to make use of this facility as anyone else in this department.  I won’t have you inconveniencing yourself needlessly."

Idrisar paused in his stretching and his eyes softened.  “It’s not an inconvenience, Sir.  Really.  I actually prefer to work out with few or no other people around.  It makes for less possible distractions.”

Ammiteo was torn.  On the one hand, he wanted to do right by Idrisar, but on the other, he didn’t want to coddle him and insult him.  “And you’re sure you’d be happiest if I just let this slide?”

Idrisar lay on his back and shrugged again.  “I think it would do more damage to let him think he’s rattled me than it would to lecture him yet again.  I’ve learned to deal with sires like him, in my old age.”

Ammiteo smirked in spite of himself, allowing a lingering glance at the other man’s graceful form while he was distracted with his next set of stretching.  “Old age,” he repeated, shaking his head.  Being privy to detailed information about his agents, he happened to know Blackbird was exaggerating.  “Tell me, would you say that about yourself if you were a sire?”

The question prompted the lifebearer to pause and tilt his head thoughtfully.  “Huh.  I suppose I’ve never considered that.  Probably not, Sir.”

"And why is that?"  Ammiteo could guess, but he wanted to hear Idrisar’s take on it.

"Because sires can still produce children at my age, and beyond," answered the agent thoughtfully.  "Maybe it’s my Nandar upbringing that makes me think of myself as old, now that I’m past my childbearing years."

Ammiteo smiled quietly at him.  One of the things he appreciated the most about Idrisar’s personality was his frankness and his objectivity.  He was one of the few who could step outside his own viewpoint and try to see the world through someone else’s eyes.  He squatted down beside the mat and gave Idrisar his opinion.

"Exceeding the typical childbearing age range doesn’t make you old.  It _does_ make you more worldly and patient, however.  I’m grateful for that.”

"Raising children tends to test one’s patience," quipped the lifebearer with a chuckle, "but I appreciate your encouragement, Sir.  Have you ever had any children?"

Ammiteo shook his head.  “I’ve spent my entire life in the military and this is what I love most.”

Idrisar studied him thoughtfully.  “So you don’t think you’d ever want at least one little one of your own?”

The director shrugged.  “The thought has come up from time to time, but it’s not a priority in my life.  As you mentioned earlier, that’s one advantage to being a sire; no time limit on having children.”

"Yes, you have all the time in the world," agreed Idrisar softly.  "I think nature knew what it was doing when it designed us this way, personally.  We lifebearers may start slow but once we begin to mature, it happens quickly.  Sires take longer to reach full emotional maturity.  It’s probably for the best that you can take as much time as you need to decide what you want to do in life, before you start families.  Most lifebearers already know that by the time we reach forty."

"Agreed," replied the director with a nod.  He reluctantly got to his feet, not wanting to keep the agent from his exercises.  "I won’t take up anymore of your time, Agent Blackbird.  Thank you for being so gracious about Vandrin’s behavior…even though he doesn’t deserve it.  I hope you won’t hesitate to report him, if he _does_ push the boundaries.”

"Of course," agreed the lifebearer.  He started to raise his healing leg, but he paused and looked at the sire thoughtfully.  Ammiteo barely turned before Idrisar called him back.  "Director, do you think you could assist me for a few minutes?  This part of my stretch routine unfortunately requires a second party to get full results."

Ammiteo looked at the smaller man and he felt suddenly nervous in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager.  He nearly gulped, but he disciplined himself and nodded.  He’d spotted the lifebearer on the machines and with the weights before.  Surely, this wouldn’t be so different.  “How can I help?”

Idrisar lifted his leg straight up, so that the bare sole of his foot was pointed up at the ceiling.  He kept his other leg flat on the mat and he rested his arms flat at his sides.  “I need you to push on my leg.  Put one hand over my knee to keep it from bending, push my leg back toward my head until I say to stop, and hold it steady there.”

It sounded simple enough, but once Ammiteo joined him and began to ease his leg up and back, he realized it was steadily putting him into a somewhat compromised, suggestive position.  He distinctly remembered maneuvering his last sexual partner into a position like this during intercourse and he had to use every ounce of willpower he owned to keep his expression and eyes from betraying his inner thoughts.  Idrisar looked up at him and breathed slowly through his mouth, blowing the air out softly through parted lips when he exhaled.  His black hair spread out around his head and Ammiteo could see the dark, almost maroon-colored roots starting to show near his scalp.  He imagined the lifebearer with his natural color and he thought it would look good on him.  After all, it wasn’t much lighter than the sable color he always dyed it. 

Ammiteo eased up when the resistance got strong and Idrisar’s leg was at a forty-five degree angle.  He looked at his companion’s face and he saw an expression of mingled discomfort and…pleasure?  Idrisar’s eyes were shut and his breathing came a little faster.

"Is this hurting you?" asked the sire uncertainly, unwilling to continue pressing down and risk forcing it too much.

"It’s a good pain," assured Idrisar in a strained voice.  Sweat beaded his forehead and he opened his eyes and stared up at him.  "It’s like…when someone massages pressure points.  It hurts, but it’s good.  Keep going, please."

Ammiteo thought he understood and he carefully did as requested, trying hard not to think of how intimately this was forcing him to hunch over Idrisar’s body.  He found himself caught up in the sky-blue eyes and he reacted helplessly as a soft moan escaped the lifebearer’s parted lips.  The smooth column of Idrisar’s throat arched as he tilted his head back and clenched his fists.  Blackbird was gorgeous and Ammiteo was only a mortal man.  To his humiliation, Ammiteo stiffened in his cargo pants and his position on top of Idrisar allowed the hardening bulge to press against the back of the thigh he was trying to help stretch.  Idrisar evidently noticed it, because he stopped breathing and blinked up at Ammiteo.

What the director wouldn’t have given for a timely emergency phone call, at that moment.  As it was, he had nothing to break the awkward moment and he respected Idrisar’s intelligence too much to try and lie his way out of his body’s reactions.  He released the agent’s leg and backed off, getting to his feet and turning away hastily to hide the obvious tent in the crotch of his pants from his view.

"I’m sorry," apologized Ammiteo over his shoulder.  "That wasn’t on purpose.  I wasn’t helping you to get a cheap thrill."

Idrisar sat up and rubbed his thigh.  “I know.  It’s okay, Director.  These things sometimes happen, and we can’t always control them.”

"I hope you know I would never disrespect you," Ammiteo said, closing his eyes as he willed his groin to go back down. 

The lifebearer’s voice softened.  “I know.”

Ammiteo half-turned, still hiding his pelvic area from view while he waited for his aroused state to fade.  “Again, I have to thank you for being gracious.  It seems you’re getting no end of trouble from your sire associates, these days.”

Idrisar smiled up at him and chuckled, shaking his head.  “Please, don’t even compare yourself to that cousin of yours, Sir.  You handled that with dignity and manners.  He wouldn’t have done the same.  You really shouldn’t be embarrassed.”

 Ammiteo disagreed with the last part, but thanks to that embarrassment, his condition had ebbed enough for him to turn and face the lifebearer again without humiliating himself further.  He offered a hand to Idrisar and he was inwardly thankful that he had a low blush factor.  Idrisar took the offered hand and allowed him to help him back to his feet.  The lifebearer smiled softly at him, gracious as always.

"Thank you.  I think I might actually get cleaned up and go home, now.  Today was a little tiring."

Ammiteo nodded and took a step back.  “It’s best to listen to your body when it tells you it needs rest.  Do you need a ride home?  I can wait.”

"I drove today," answered Idrisar, "but thank you."

"Then I’ll see you in the morning." Ammiteo made a traditional gesture of respect.  "Goodnight, Agent Blackbird."

Idrisar gave a brief, old-school bow in return.  “Goodnight, Director Ammiteo.”

~xox~

-To be continued


	2. Chapter 1

Alistair sat down on the couch beside his mate, unable to take his eyes off of the gun pointed at him. Orindel finally found his tongue when his sire took a seat on the reclining armchair that Alistair had been napping in before his arrival.

"Dad, put the gun away."

Zevian regarded him silently as he sprawled lazily in the chair, stretching his long legs in a casual manner. And why shouldn’t the man be relaxed? He had not one, but two guns on him that Alistair had seen. The second one remained holstered at his right side, beneath the long coat he was wearing.

"Dad, I mean it. Stop pointing that thing at Alistair." Orindel got out of the couch and stepped in front of his drenched mate, blocking the path of any bullets that might "accidentally" make their way out of the chamber.

Zevian sighed, twirled the gun absently and clicked the safety on before putting it away. “Did you really believe I wouldn’t look into what you’ve been up to since moving here?” He smirked. “Give your old man some credit, ragmuffin. I’ve known the truth for almost a year, now. I was hoping you’d just come clean with me, but since you’ve chosen not to, I have to assume something isn’t right with this relationship. Now sit down, so I can work out what that is and decide what to do about it.”

Orindel glared at him. “I’ll tell you what you can do about it, Pops…nothing. Not a damned thing. It’s my life and he’s my mate. Suck it up or beat it.”

Zevian sucked his teeth for a moment, and then he leaned to the side to peer around his son’s body at Alistair. His aqua gaze was sincere beneath the sunglasses propped on his head and he spread his hands as if woefully wronged. “Do you hear the way my son talks to me? Where’s the love?”

Uncertain of how to respond but madly eager to please the man, Alistair looked up at his mate. “Maybe you shouldn’t talk to your sire that way, babe. I’m…uh…sure he’s just trying to look out for your best interests.”

Zevian smirked and gestured casually at the rain-soaked sire. “See? Your mate’s smart, Orindel. He’s a suck-up, but he’s smart. You ought to listen to him.”

"He’s nice," excused Orindel with an annoyed look at Alistair. "Too nice for his own good."

"So he’s spineless too?" Zevian sighed, glancing at Alistair with naked disappointment. "How about that beer, son? I’m still thirsty."

"If you think I’m leaving you alone with him, you’re flipped." Orindel stayed protectively between the two sires and he crossed his arms over his t-shirt-clad chest, shaking back a couple of braids that had fallen over his forehead again.

Zevian got up, making both of the younger lashran tense. “Easy,” he advised, parting his coat. He reached for his weapons with slow deliberation and he removed them from their holsters. “Here, Orin. Take them, if you’re so worried I’ll blow away your man.” He flipped the matching guns deftly in his hands and held them out handle-first to Orindel.

Giving him a wary glance, Orindel took the weapons. He glanced at Alistair, who sat woefully indecisive about what he was supposed to do next. Orindel looked at his sire again. “Give me all of them.”

Zevian had the look of the wrongly accused. “I’ve given you all the guns I have on me.”

"No you haven’t," insisted Orindel. "And don’t think I don’t know about the knives in your boots. I’m not letting you fuck with Alistair’s head, for even a second."

Alistair tried not to let his eyes bug out as Mr. Saber proceeded to remove a pair of wicked-looking throwing knives from concealed sheathes in the soles of his boots. He then reached behind and inside of his coat to retrieve yet another gun, followed by a switchblade, a case of darts and what appeared to be some sort of electronic detonator. He set all of these things on the coffee table, before he shrugged out of his coat and held his arms out for his son’s inspection. He had an impressively toned body and Alistair admitted to himself that under different circumstances, he would have found the man wicked sexy. Having a mirror interest could be a pain in the ass, at times.

"There," stated Zevian tiredly. "Are you satisfied?"

Orindel inspected the mafia lord with mistrustful eyes before nodding and gathering up the range of weapons and the coat. “Play nice, Dad. I’ll take this shit out of the room and go get you that beer, now.”

"It’s about time."

Zevian’s phone went off from inside the coat and he stopped his son long enough to fish it out of the pocket and put it to his ear. “Saber here.” His gaze flicked to Alistair. “Yes. No, I don’t think that will be necessary, but keep a sharp eye out just in case. Mm-hmm, good.”

He ended the call and smiled charmingly at Alistair as Orindel left the living room. He seated himself in the chair again, sprawling like a big tomcat secure in his territory. “So Alistair, tell me what you do for a living.”

~”Don’t tell him you’re an architect. Don’t tell him you’re an architect.”~

The older sire’s steady, cool gaze made it hard to tell a lie, though. “I’m an architect.”

~”Moron! Oh well…it was a nice life while it lasted.”~

Zevian’s brows drew together briefly. “Hmm. That’s too bad.”

"It…it pays well," excused Alistair, trying hard to retain some dignity.

"Does it?" Zevian smirked with subtle amusement. "Enough to support a family, if my son weren’t employed?"

"Of course," assured Alistair. "I’ve also been putting away money in savings. I know Orindel likes this place, but I’m hoping he’ll be willing to buy a house and move to the suburbs, some day."

Zevian nodded. “Mm. Tell me then, Alistair…is your dick broken?”

The young architect stared at the other man stupidly, and that was when Orindel came back into the room with three bottles of beer. He heard the candid question and he glared at his sire. “What the hell kind of question is that, Dad?”

"The kind a man asks when his son elopes behind his back and there’s no grandchild to show for it," answered Zevian calmly, his gaze never wavering from poor Alistair. "So how about it, Mr. Dragomere? Does your cock work, or not?"

"Yes," answered Alistair, flushing.

"Then why haven’t you started a family, yet?"

To Alistair’s horror, Orindel popped his sire on the back of the head. Zevian grunted and rubbed the spot with an annoyed look at his son. “Can’t a parent ask perfectly reasonable questions about the status of his own child’s relationship?”

"You’ve got some balls, Pops," Orindel replied, handing one of the beers over to the guild lord. "Alistair and I will have brats when we’re damned good and ready to…wait, scratch that. We’ll have them when I’m damned good and read to, since I’m going to be the one shitting them out.”

"That’s a crude way of saying it," protested Alistair impulsively.

"Can you think of a better way to describe lashran childbirth?" Orindel challenged, raising one pierced brow at him.

"Well, you don’t actually defecate any more after the first trimester, so—"

"This is all very fascinating," interrupted Zevian grimly, "but I’d like to get back on the subject of why you two haven’t shat out a kid, yet. Are you sure you’re able to get him pregnant, Alistair?”

"His sperm and his dick both work fine," answered Orindel for his mate before Alistair could even begin to respond. "More than fine, actually…but I won’t go into details.”

"Please don’t," agreed Alistair. He looked mournfully at the window and he wished he was still outside—rain and lightning be damned.

"Look, not everyone wants to start making crotch fruit the minute they say their vows," reasoned Orindel to his sire. "I’ve got a lot of music to make with the band before I even think about settling down to do the kid thing. I’ve got over a century to plan my family and hell, I might not even decide to have kids at all.”

"Don’t say that," advised Zevian grimly.

"Why not?" challenged the lifebearer. He handed one of the remaining beers to his mate and opened the last one for himself. "I’m not even sure I want to have any. I know our race’s population is in the shitter, but having babies isn’t compulsory. It’s my choice."

Zevian looked at Alistair and he twisted the cap off his beer and gestured toward him with the bottle. “What about you then? Do you want kids someday?”

"Yes," admitted Alistair. He managed a smile for his free-spirited spouse. "But I want Orindel more. I’ll stand by whatever choice he makes."

Zevian rolled his eyes. “Are you sure you aren’t an eunuch?”

Orindel flipped his sire off, while simultaneously smiling at Alistair. “I can assure you, he isn’t. Just because he respects me doesn’t make him less of a sire.”

"Oh, I’m glad he respects you," corrected Zevian, "but the man can’t seem to speak up for himself or negotiate for anything he wants. A real Vashekna isn’t about you getting your way all the time, Orin. You walk all over this guy…I can tell. A sire needs to be respected by his mate, too.”

Feeling a little more secure around the man now that he seemed to be sticking up for him, Alistair tried to keep it peaceful. “It’s okay, Sir. He respects me.”

Zevian looked at him blankly. “Did I ask for your comment?”

"Uh, no."

The older sire snorted and made a dismissive gesture at him, addressing his son. “See? He just piped down without a fight. How can your respect him when he doesn’t respect himself?”

Alistair felt the stirrings of anger. “Now just a minute, Sir, I have plenty of self-esteem.”

"Oh?" Zevian sipped his beer and looked him up and down. "I don’t see it, from where I’m sitting."

"Leave him alone, Dad," warned Orindel. "Not every sire on Wyndrah has to act like a mob boss to feel good about himself."

"Your words scald me," muttered Zevian dryly. He put his drink on the coffee table and he got out of his chair to approach his son. He took Orindel’s free hand in his and he rubbed it between his palms. "Orin, you’re my child…my only child. I swore to your father that you would have the best in life and I would always protect you, no matter how much it pisses you off. I’m not breaking that promise, so suck it up.”

Zevian looked at Alistair while Orindel sputtered uselessly. “What kind of sire would I be if I didn’t want my kid to have the best possible mate? Answer that for me, Alistair.”

"Not a very good one," conceded Alistair. He looked at Orindel’s frustrated, beautiful face and he shrugged. "I’d do the same for my kid, if I had one."

Mr. Saber cracked a smile and clinked his beer bottle against Alistair’s. “That, I can respect. Maybe you aren’t as hopeless as I thought.”

Orindel rolled his eyes. “Are you done snooping now, Dad?”

"Not completely." Zevian sat back down again and gestured at the couch where Alistair sat. "Have a seat, Orin. Tell me what else you’ve been up to and how Evindar is doing. I understand there was an issue with an obsessed fan threatening his spouse’s life?"

Orindel sat down beside Alistair and put a hand on his knee familiarly. “Yeah, but it wasn’t a fan; it was actually his talent agent Vroyce doing it. The guy was already obsessed with him when he started working for him and none of us even saw it.”

"He was good about hiding his feelings, until near the end," added Alistair with a shake of his head. "I almost feel sorry for him."

"You feel sorry for some stalking dirtbag that tried to have Evin’s mate killed?" Zevian queried in a disapproving tone.

"He’s got a big heart," defended Orindel, "quit riding his ass, Dad."

Zevian shrugged again and took his shades off to twirl them absently in his fingers. “So what did this man try to do, exactly? The details in the Zarn papers were a little shady.”

"He tried to break them up at first," explained Orindel. "I don’t think he originally wanted to off Ronin; he just wanted to get him out of the way so he could move in on Evi. When that didn’t work, he tried to cause an accident by cutting the breaks of Ronin’s car. It scared Evi enough to make him draw away from Ronin and take a detour to splitsville, so the guy would stop threatening him."

"And the authorities couldn’t do anything about this?" Zevian grimaced. "Big surprise. You should have come to me with this, son."

"I thought about it," admitted the bassist. When his mate gave him a surprised look, he held his hands out. "What? The Ulvari-vash blew it off when Evi tried to get their help and the national guard was drawing blanks. Dad would have tracked the fucker down and taken care of him before it got to the point where Evi felt like he had to break up with Ronin."

Looking at the older sire’s handsome, grim countenance, Alistair somehow couldn’t doubt it. “Well, it’s over now.”

"Why didn’t you come to me,” demanded Zevian, “If you were so confident I could have protected Evindar’s mate?”

"Because Evindar wouldn’t let me," sighed Orindel. "You know he loves you Dad, but he didn’t want to get the mafia involved in it. He likes to do things the legal way unless he has no other choice, you know?"

The guild lord grunted. “I guess I can’t fault him for wanting to keep his hands clean.”

"He’s the one that really caught Vroyce, in the end," Orindel announced proudly. "He figured it out after he found out he was knocked up and—"

"Evin’s pregnant?"

"Yeah, that’s what I said," answered Orindel impatiently. "So anyway, Evi told me he started getting suspicious when he realized the threats started coming in around the same time he hired Vroyce. He tricked the guy into confessing, working that sexy magic of his until he got him all worked up and stupid. He convinced him to call off the hit and once he did that, he held him at gunpoint ‘till the agents came and took him away."

Zevian smirked. “I’ve always said you should never push a lifebearer too far. So, did they track down the contract killer too?”

"They haven’t found him yet,” sighed Orindel. “And that worries me a little. It sounded like he did a few hits before Vroyce hired him.”

"He called himself ‘Sandman’," Alistair said.

An odd look passed over Zevian’s face. “‘Sandman’,” he repeated softly. He looked down at his glasses and frowned.

Orindel exchanged an interested look with Alistair. “Ring a bell, Dad?”

Zevian’s expression went neutral. “Nothing to worry about.”

"Uh, yeah it is," countered the bassist with a frown of his own. "Dad, if you think you might know who this dude is, you need to tell someone at the Avras Alliance in Valkyrie Falls. This guy is mega dangerous and I know there’s a fucked-up code of honor amongst hit men. If this guy thinks he’s got to finish the job, he’s going to go after Dr. Adder again. I haven’t told Evindar that because I don’t want to scare him, but…" He trailed off meaningfully.

”Odds are, if he hasn’t come after him yet he isn’t going to,” Zevian assured his son.

"But what if he does?” pressed the lifebearer. “I don’t want to see Evi or Ronin get hurt, Dad. If you know anything, can’t you just contact someone with the Ulvari there and tell them? For Evindar’s sake?”

Zevian seemed to consider the matter and he tapped his glasses against his knee with a frown. He got up and looked at both of them with a stern expression. “Get cleaned up, change into something nice and call the Adders. I’m taking you all out for dinner.”

Orindel looked at Alistair with confusion, then back at his father. “Huh?”

"Don’t make me repeat myself, Orin."

The commanding tone of his voice cowed even the stubborn, rebellious bassist and he got up just as quickly as Alistair to do as he was bidden.

~xox~

An hour later, at the Adder household:

Ronin barely had time to hang his coat before his mate informed him they were going out to dinner. He frowned at Evindar, but the frown faded quickly as his eyes scanned the singer with appreciation. He whistled softly and smiled, approaching his mate and putting his arms around him. The white pants and forest green turtleneck sweater looked great on Evindar.

"I was going to argue, but you look too hot for me to turn you down," informed the sire as he kissed his mate’s parted lips. "What’s the occasion, love? You didn’t give me much notice."

"Mr. Saber is in town, and he’s taking us out to eat."

Ronin shook his head in ignorance. “Who?”

"Orindel’s sire," explained Evindar. "Oh, that’s right…you’ve never met him, have you?"

"Orindel has parents?" teased Ronin. "I was under the impression that he just spawned from chaos."

Evindar gave him an impatient look. “This isn’t the time for jokes. Go change into something nice, quickly. They’ll be here to pick us up soon.”

"Do we really have to do this?" complained Ronin. "I don’t want to be rude, but I’ve had a long day. Couldn’t we take a rain check and plan it for another time?"

"No," answered the lifebearer with a shake of his head. He stroked Ronin’s arm and looked at him apologetically. "I’m sorry Ronin, but Mr. Saber isn’t the kind of man you say ‘no’ to."

Ronin frowned. “What is he, a politician or something?”

"Don’t ever say that to his face," warned Evindar. "He’s a very important man. Just leave it at that."

"Sorry, but I can’t ‘just leave it at that’ now…you’ve got me intrigued. Where is this guy from and what does he do for a living that makes him so important?"

Evindar lowered his gray-violet eyes. “He’s from Zarn. Do you remember some of the things I told you about my visits there when I was a child?”

Ronin shrugged, casting his mind back. “I know the place is full of gangsters and…and pirates…oh.” He studied his mate with alarm as Evindar raised his gaze again and looked at him expectantly. “Evin…please tell me we’re not going to dinner with a mafia boss.”

"Okay, I won’t tell you," answered the singer with a little smile. "Will you go get changed, now?"

The doctor groaned and put a hand over his forehead. “I don’t believe this! Evindar, I know you’ve been friends with Orindel for a long time, but I’m really not comfortable with you being around a gangster.” He put a protective hand over the little swell of the lifebearer’s abdomen.

Evindar rolled his eyes. “What do you think he’s going to do? Punch me in the stomach? Contrary to what you may think about the sort of people involved in the mafia, Mr. Saber is a family man and he’s got his own set of morals—odd as they may seem to outsiders. He’d never hurt me and he’d kill anyone who tried.”

"I wasn’t suggesting he’d hurt you," argued Ronin, "but guild lords have enemies, love. Enemies that follow them and seek any opening they can find to take them down. Anyone unlucky enough to be nearby can go down with them."

"He travels with bodyguards," assured Evindar, "and he’s hard to catch by surprise. I’m sure he wouldn’t ask us out to dinner if he had any reason to think it wasn’t safe, Ronin. He’s very protective of Orindel and me. Besides, I haven’t seen him since just after you left for Avras, and it will be nice to catch up with him again."

Ronin sighed, seeing that he was trapped. “Okay, I guess you’ve got me cornered. I’ll find something to wear.”

~xox~

A black limo arrived to pick them up approximately twenty minutes later and the chauffeur informed them that Mr. Saber and the others would meet up with them at the Blue Recluse; a five-star restaurant in the center of downtown Rhuidhim. Ronin tried to relax on the way there, but all he could think about was the gangster movies he’d seen where mob bosses got shot up in public places, along with innocent bystanders near them.

When they arrived at the venue and got out of the car, he got his first glimpse of the man that Evindar described as “notorious” in Zarn. Saber was standing by the fountain out front with Orindel and Alistair. After Ronin got over his shock at seeing Orindel in black dress pants and a matching blazer with his hair pulled back into a ponytail, he sized up the bassist’s tall sire and he couldn’t help but make an observation.

"I don’t swing toward sires," muttered the doctor to his mate, "but that’s one sexy looking man. No wonder you wanted to see him again."

Evindar chuckled. “Come on, let’s introduce you.”

Zevian Saber gave a white-toothed smile as they approached and he held his hands out and looked Evindar up and down. “There he is,” he greeted in a deep, accented voice as the singer came into his embrace. He hugged him gently and gave him a pat on the back before holding him out at arm’s length. “Let’s have a look at you, beautiful. Anyone that claims it’s just a figure of speech to say lifebearers and women glow when they’re pregnant obviously hasn’t seen you.”

"I’m sure it’s just the lighting," Evindar said with an uncommonly bashful chuckle.

Mr. Saber placed a ring-bedecked hand over the singer’s growing baby bump. “How far along are you, about three months?”

"Yes," answered Evindar with a slightly amazed look. "You can tell that easily?"

"I still remember when Urahis was carrying Orin," answered the mafia lord with a wink. "It was the most exciting time in my life and I counted down the days until our son came into the world."

"We’re very excited about it," said Evindar with a smile. "Mr. Saber, this is my spouse, Ronin."

Ronin stepped forward and shook hands with the taller sire. “Pleasure to meet you.”

"Likewise," answered Zevian. "Congratulations on your impending parenthood, Dr. Adder. You take good care of this one, understand?" He put an arm around Evindar and gave him a little squeeze.

Ordinarily, Ronin would have gotten offended by a stranger lecturing him on taking care of his mate, but the quiet warning in Zevian’s eyes reminded him of Evindar’s remark about how protective he was of him and Orindel. Now that he stood face-to-face with the man, Ronin deduced that Evindar wasn’t exaggerating when he warned that Mr. Saber wasn’t a man to be trifled with.

"Always," agreed Ronin wisely. He smiled at his mate. "He’s my everything."

Zevian nodded approvingly and he gave Evindar a kiss on the temple. “Good. Let’s eat.”

As the mafia lord started walking away, Ronin noticed something about his mate that both surprised and amused him. “Are you blushing, love?”

"No," denied Evindar hastily—too hastily.

"Yes, he is," corrected Orindel, overhearing. He fell into step beside Evindar, his lavender gaze on his sire up ahead of them. "You’ve still got a crush on my old man, don’t you?"

The singer lowered his gaze and his cheeks darkened further. “I do not. That was a long time ago.”

"You totally still do," insisted Orindel with a laugh. "Hey Alistair, check out how hard Evi’s blushing!"

"Maybe you shouldn’t go on about this in front of his mate," suggested the architect with a smirk. "You’ll make Ronin jealous."

"No he won’t," denied the doctor with a laugh. He reached out and gently pinched Evindar’s blushing cheek. "I think it’s cute. Hell, I’d probably have a crush on the man too, if I were a lifebearer. Even I’ve got to admit he’s a looker.”

"He’s hot," agreed Alistair candidly in a low voice.

Orindel stopped in his tracks and blinked up at his mate. “Okay, now that’s disturbing.”

"What?" demanded the architect. "You know I swing both ways, babe…just like you."

"It’s disturbing because you’re my mate and he’s my sire," explained the bassist with a shudder. "Evi, am I wrong?"

"No," answered the singer with a smirk. "I’d be disturbed too if Ronin called either of my parents ‘hot’."

Up ahead, the subject of their discussion stopped outside the big arch leading into the building and he turned to regard them. “Are you kids coming?”

"Coming, Dad," answered Orindel.

“‘Kids’?” repeated Ronin with a frown. “Did he just call us ‘kids’? I’m going to be two-hundred and eighty-one years old this winter!”

"That’s still a ‘kid’, as far as Mr. Saber is concerned," explained Evindar. "He’s four-hundred and ninety-two years old."

"Wow, you even keep track of his birthdays," teased Orindel—which earned him a light punch on the arm from Evindar.

Ronin sighed. “I hate to be paranoid, but shouldn’t the man have bodyguards around, considering his line of work?”

"He does," answered Orindel.

The security guards on either side of the restaurant arch were the only ones Ronin could see, and they were Blue Recluse staff. “Where?”

Orindel threw a smirk at him and glanced around. “All over the place, man.”

The doctor cast a suspicious look around. Either Saber’s companions were as stealthy as Ulvari, or they were masquerading as regular citizens going about their business.

~xox~

Zevian ordered a dozen oysters on the half-shell and a round of prawn cocktails to start off, while they looked at the menus. The table conversation began pleasantly enough, until he asked Ronin about his brush with death in Avras.

"Orindel tells me that Evindar’s talent agent sent someone after you, Ronin." Zevian picked up an oyster and dashed a little hot sauce over it, before meeting the other sire’s gaze and holding it. "Someone going by the name ‘Sandman’?"

Ronin stopped with a prawn halfway to his lips, wondering why the man would bring up such a thing. “That’s right. The case has been resolved, though.”

"But they haven’t caught the hitman?"

"No," Evindar answered before Ronin could. "He’s still on the loose."

"I’m not that concerned for my own sake, to be honest," Ronin said. "He could have killed me in the hotel room during our last encounter, but he didn’t. When Vroyce called the hit off, he lost interest."

"Hmm, I wasn’t told that part.” Zevian looked at his son, who shrugged. “So this assassin told you directly that he wasn’t going to come after you again, eh?”

"Well, not in so many words," explained Ronin, "but as I said, he had the chance to kill me and he didn’t take it. I think if he intended to come after me again, he would have just saved himself the effort and shot me in the face while he had the gun on me."

"One would think," agreed Zevian. He tipped the oyster into his mouth and considered the matter as he ate it. "I assume he was masked when he attacked you?"

"Yes. I got a pretty good look at his hair and eyes, but that’s it." Ronin frowned at him. "Come to think of it, his hair color was almost identical to yours…blond highlights and everything. He was about your size, too."

"Was he, now?" The slits of Zevian’s pupils dilated a little and he examined his glass of red wine. "What about his voice?"

"It wasn’t quite as deep as yours," answered Ronin, "but my memory could be faulty on that front. Everything happened very quickly. I remember his eyes most of all. They were amber, with green around the edges."

Zevian sipped his wine and Orindel stared at him. “Well, Dad? Does he sound like someone you know?”

The mafia lord shook his head and swallowed the mouthful of wine. “No. Eat your prawns, Orin.”

The bassist narrowed his eyes at him as if he didn’t quite believe him and Ronin again wondered why the man took such an interest in his would-be killer. This was going on record as one of the strangest dinners he’d ever attended.

~xox~

"Thank you for treating us to dinner, Mr. Saber." Evindar blushed tellingly again as the gangster gave him a goodbye hug. Ronin pinched his lips, barely refraining from teasing him out loud. It was so unusual to see Evindar crushing like this and though he was a little jealous, he was more amused.

"It was my pleasure," assured Zevian. He smiled at the singer and gave his belly one last little pat. "This is going to be one beautiful kid, Evin. Take care of yourself and practice your breathing."

"I will," promised Evindar. He went to Ronin’s side and put an arm around him as Orindel took his place in Mr. Saber’s arms.

"I’m still annoyed with you for trying to keep your Vashekna from me," Zevian informed his son as he hugged him. He pulled away and looked into his eyes. "I’d better not find out about my grandchild the way I found out about your spouse, when you do decide to have a kid. Got it?”

Orindel grinned at him. “Got it, Pops. I’m glad you’re being cool about it.”

Zevian snorted. “I’m not ‘cool with it’, but you’ve made your choice and you seem happy, so I’ll let it slide.” He looked at Alistair, who stood straighter in response. With a resigned sigh, he stuck out his hand to the other sire. Alistair shook it eagerly and Zevian smirked.

"You take good care of my kid, Dragomere. Don’t ever break his heart, if you want to keep your kneecaps."

"Dad," sighed Orindel, throwing his hands up.

The architect visibly swallowed. “Yes Sir.”

~xox~

After the limo carrying his son and the others drove away, Zevian’s smile faded. His car drove up to the curb and the driver got out to open the door for him, bowing a little in respect. Zevian climbed into the expensive, deep blue sedan and he nodded at the sharp-dressed sire with short-cropped blond hair waiting inside. Therril nodded respectfully back, the long scar slashing over his cheek giving him a fierce countenance.

"How did the dinner go, boss?"

"Not bad," answered Zevian. He pulled out his cell phone and checked his contact list.

"I noticed the son-in-law came out alive," remarked the other gangster with an amused smirk. "Did you change your mind about him?"

"How long he survives being mated to my son depends on how well he treats him," answered Zevian sincerely. "If he does right by him, there won’t be a problem."

Therril nodded again. “Where to now, Sir? We’ve still got some business to take care of.”

"I’m calling the meeting off," answered Zevian. "We can do business with Mr. Nidun another time. I have more important matters to take care of."

"Yeah?" Therril looked interested.

"Yes." Zevian dialed his secretary. "Opal, I need travel and accommodation arrangements made for Valkyrie Falls, as soon as anything’s available. That’s right, on Avras. Thanks, gorgeous." He ended the call and put the phone away.

"May I ask why we’re heading to Avras, boss?"

Zevian looked out the window at the passing scenery. “I have a bone to pick.”

~xox~

Somewhere in downtown Valkyrie Falls, the next afternoon:

"Someone didn’t want this guy to be identified too soon." The crime scene investigator held a handkerchief over his mouth and nose as he examined the body. "They burned his fingerprints off, gouged his eyes out and pulled all of his teeth."

The breeze stirred the mystery man’s hair and another detail was revealed to the inspector. “They cut his ears off, too. All we can say with certainty at this point was that the victim was lashran.”

"We found this lying on his chest when we found him, sir." The police officer lifted a clear baggie and inside of it was a small hourglass, filled with sand.

The inspector sighed. “Sandman,” he guessed, recognizing the signature calling card of the assassin. “I wonder who this poor bastard pissed off? All right, let’s call it in and I’ll send a copy of the report to the Alliance headquarters. This case is out of our hands.”

~xox~

-To be continued


	3. Chapter 3

_East Side Valkyrie Falls, the next day:_

"So do we have a deal then, gentlemen?" 

Phillip Myers looked at the three Zarnian lashran in his office.  They looked at each other before one of them pulled out a mobile phone and dialed someone—probably their boss.  He spoke in the Zarnian dialect when the other line picked up and he looked at the human in the room through his shades.  Phillip resisted the instinctive urge to squirm, knowing better than to show these men any sign of weakness or uncertainty.  All he understood of what the lashran was saying was the word “boss”, and when he ended the call and replaced his phone in his jacket, Myers mentally braced himself for rejection or a lower price demand.

"Your offer is…agreeable," said the sire in halting Avran.  His gaze went to the case of precious native gems and metals, which would be brought to Zarn to be made into exotic jewelry and sold on the black market.  "We will give the money, now."

The blond sire nodded to his redheaded companion, who wore an almost identical suit and kept his hair neatly trimmed to collar-length.  The redhead lifted the briefcase chained to his right wrist and set it on the table.  He opened it with a key from his pocket and he turned it to the human investor, showing him the stacks of Avran paper currency inside.

"Two-hundred thousand credits," he announced, "as agreed."

Phillip knew better than to count the money in front of them.  He smiled and stood up to shake hands with all three of them respectively.  “It’s a pleasure to do business with you.  Please give L’daris my thanks.”

The lashran nodded and just as they started toward the door with their purchase, said door burst open and a group of Knight and Ulvari operatives came in, dressed in carbon body armor and decked out with communications gear and various weapons.  The apparent leader of the team was a young human with dark, tumbled hair and silver-gray eyes.  He caught the wrist of the blond Zarnian as the man started to raise his gun and he raised his knee, bringing the limb down on it.  The sire cried out and dropped his weapon as the other agents drew their firearms and took aim with them.

"Drop it," ordered the brunet Knight after twisting his captive’s arm behind him and shoving him against the wall.  "All of you.  Let’s nobody get killed today, all right?"

The mobsters dropped their weapons in compliance, having no other choice.  They were frisked and cuffed quickly, while a blonde woman informed them that they were under arrest for illegal smuggling transactions.  She then informed Mr. Myers that in addition, he was wanted for questioning over the murder of Anthor Roth’tas.  He couldn’t have hidden his fear if he wanted to and he immediately began to babble denials over the accusation.  The authorities would have none of it, however.  He was cuffed and dragged out the door with the others to be transported to the Avras Alliance Headquarters for questioning, while a few operatives stayed behind to search his private office for clues.

* * *

 

While Haden and his team rounded up the suspected contractor and the men he was doing business with, Idrisar finished up his business with procuring Zevian’s legal pardon.  As he’d suspected, it wasn’t very difficult to accomplish due to the lack of supporting evidence and Zevian’s connections.  The mafia lord basically gave him all he needed when he told him who to contact, and by lunchtime he had the documents processed and copied for Zevian’s satisfaction. 

Idrisar hesitated as he stopped outside the guarded door of the witness suite that Saber was being held in.  He glanced down at the papers in his hand and he took a slow, deep breath.  He reached into his pocket for the keycard for the door and he swiped it, unlocking the mechanism. 

"I won’t be long," he informed the guards as he opened the door.  He knocked first, announcing his presence to the resident inside.  "Mr. Saber, it’s Agent Blackbird.  Are you decent?"

"Never," answered the sire’s deep voice in a dry tone, "but I’m fully clothed, so feel free to enter."

Idrisar sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward before stepping into the suite.  It was no luxury motel, but it was spacious, with a few paintings on the wall, a window with a view of the city below, a double bed, a dining table and a separate bathroom.  Idrisar’s footfalls were light on the gray carpet as he walked through to foyer and found Zevian sitting at the table, reading the newspaper.  His hair was loose and damp around his shoulders, with a few little braids already woven into it.  He wore a clean set of clothes, consisting of a deep burgundy vest over a black, button-up shirt, a pair of black slacks, a brown leather belt with a gold buckle and some deep brown, expensive dress shoes.

"Your agency was good enough to get my suitcase from the hotel and check me out," explained Zevian without looking up from his paper.  He gestured at a steaming cup of steaming liquid sitting on the table across from him.  "Coffee?"  He reached for his own cup and took a sip.

Idrisar didn’t want to remain in the man’s proximity for longer than necessary, but he was brought up to be gracious, even under pressure.  “Thank you.”  He crossed the room and joined the sire at the table.  “You seem to have planned this.”

Zevian smiled crookedly—the sort of smile that generally made hearts flutter.  “They told me you were on your way with the documents, so I brewed a cup for you.  Say what you will about me, but one thing I’m not is a poor host.  I’ve already prepared it how you like it.”

Idrisar picked up the mug and took an experimental sip.  It was bold, with cream but no sugar…just how he preferred his coffee, as Zevian said.  He looked at the other man as he swallowed and he placed the mug back onto the table. 

"Thank you.  Here is a copy of the withdrawal of your ban from this country."  He put the document on the table and slid it over to the sire.  Zevian’s hand settled over his before he could withdraw it and Idrisar felt the heat rise warningly in his face.  He pulled his hand away and disciplined himself, hiding the unwanted effect the man’s contact had on him. 

Zevian’s mouth twitched subtly and he picked up the paper to read it.  He nodded after a moment of scanning the text with alert aqua eyes and he put the paper back down.  He turned in his seat and folded his newspaper up before regarding the lifebearer sitting across from him.  His brows briefly furrowed and then a slow smile curved his mouth.

"Glasses.  Are those ornamental or functional, Agent Blackbird?"

Idrisar had honestly forgotten that he’d worn his glasses instead of his contacts today, and he reached up and touched the side of the naked lens briefly.  “Functional.  I prefer to use contacts, but I need to renew my prescription.”

"You should wear the glasses more often," suggested Zevian.  "You look cute in them."

Idrisar bristled.  “We aren’t here to discuss eyewear fashion.  We’ve done as you’ve requested and now it’s time for you to fulfill your end of the bargain.”

Zevian sipped his coffee again and regarded him quietly.  His next words didn’t inspire kinder feelings.  “You’re stressed, Agent.  I wonder, do your people have _any_ idea how much harder you work than the rest of them to earn the respect you’re due?”

"I’m sure the ones who count are aware of it," answered Idrisar carefully, keeping his cool.  "I don’t think a Zarnian crime lord has room to criticize others for sexual discrimination and harassment."

Zevian arched a brow.  “Is this about my compliment to your glasses?  All right, I take it back: they look ugly on you…hideous.  I can barely stand the sight of you, in fact.  Yuck!”  He turned his head away.

The gangster’s brutally sarcastic response forced laughter to bubble in Idrisar’s throat before he could stop it.  He cleared his throat and looked down, fighting to stop grinning as the sire looked at him again.  “Now you’re just avoiding the subject.”

Zevian’s smile faded and he sighed.  “ _If_ my suspicions are right about your Sandman, I can eventually lead you to him…with a lot of backtracking.  That’s why I need your people to accompany me back to Zarn.  It begins there.”

"Give me a name, Zevian."  Idrisar sobered completely and he gazed directly into the mobster’s eyes.  "I need something to go by, before I agree to anything."

The mafia boss considered him for a while, and when Idrisar didn’t back down or look away, he gave him a nod of approval and an answer.  “Tsyther of Zarn, unless he’s procured a surname for himself.  He trained with the Ulvari _and_ the Spirit Keepers, before he went rogue.”

Idrisar quickly retrieved his palm-sized data pad from his blazer pocket and he entered the information in for a quick search.  He frowned and shook his head.  “He’s not in any of the records we’ve procured.”

"No, he wouldn’t be."  Zevian drank the last of his coffee and put the mug down.  "I had him removed."

"What do you mean, ‘removed’?"  Idrisar frowned dubiously at him.

"I mean exactly what I said, beautiful.  I pulled some strings and had all of his records removed from every available source.  You won’t find anything authentic on him, without my help."

Idrisar stopped searching the database, finding his claim entirely believable.  As he’d told his superior; Zevian and the other guild lords had a wide power base and countless connections.  That he had the power to erase someone from public records came as no surprise.  He looked at the sire’s drying hair and he was again reminded of the similarity in color to Sandman’s hair.

"Do you have any relation to this man, Mr. Saber?"

"Why do you ask?"

Idrisar didn’t blink.  “Because his hair was the same shade as yours, complete with the gold highlights.  He was also built similarly to you.”

"So because we’re the same size and he copied my hair color, you think we’re related?"  Zevian smirked. 

"There are a few reasons, actually," replied the agent.  "The hair and body similarities are just the most obvious ones."

"Then why don’t you name these other reasons?"

Idrisar shrugged and took another sip of his coffee.  He couldn’t claim the voices were similar.  Sandman’s had been rough…grating.  Zevian’s was smooth and seductive—a thing which he did not intend to admit aloud.  “Well, there’s the fact that you both have spirit singing capabilities, as well.”

"I can’t ‘sing’," countered the gangster.  "I can only block spiritual intruders.  I’m like a goalie chained to his post, in that way."

"But you still have the talent, even if it isn’t developed enough to do more than that."  Idrisar looked him up and down.  "That’s rare.  The gift is usually passed down through the family line.  In addition, you know things about this man that suggest you have some personal relationship with him."

"You aren’t going to let this go, are you?"  Zevian’s aqua gaze was amused.  "I think you’re possibly the most persistent, stubborn agent I’ve ever met, Blackbird."

"I’m trying to get answers to save lives," insisted Idrisar.

"Well, I’m going to have to disappoint you.  I’m not ready to reveal the personal details of my connection with this man, so you’re just going to have to draw your own conclusions."

Quietly frustrated, Idrisar finished off his coffee.  He got out of his chair and he gave the gangster a polite nod, refusing to let the man get to him.  “I’m confident that you’ll eventually tell me what I want to know, Mr. Saber.”

Zevian got up as well and he walked with the agent to the door, his old school courtesy both charming and disorienting.  Idrisar stopped just before the door and when Zevian started to open it for him, he held up his keycard as a reminder that it was locked.  The mafia lord raised an eyebrow at the keycard.

"Is it really necessary to keep me locked in here now, Agent?  I’m no longer a criminal in Avras, after all."

"It’s protocol," insisted Idrisar, meeting his eyes.  "I’ll have a keycard brought to you as soon as possible, once I’ve conveyed this information to my superiors."

"Hmm.  What about my men?  You’ve still got some of them incarcerated here, even though they haven’t broken any laws."

"It was a precautionary measure," Idrisar said patiently.  "Do I _really_ have to explain to you why it was necessary to keep them under observation until we had things sorted out?  You were here illegally and they’re mafia.”

Zevian leaned in and Idrisar held his ground as the sire’s breath stirred his bangs.  “Whatever you say, _assassin_.” 

While Idrisar stood stunned by the undeniable truth of his label, the guild lord took his Mokalor-equipped left hand, turned it over to expose the palm, and he planted a soft kiss in the center before winking at him and stepping back.  For a few heartbeats, Idrisar just stared at him.  The agent used his keycard after deciding any argument he presented would only sound weak.  It was true; the Ulvari were originally a guild of royal assassins for the council, trained to move in unseen and unheard on a target, be it in a massive battle or in the quiet, dead of the night.  No amount of noble paint could cover up the stain of the truth.

* * *

 

A short while later, Idrisar discussed the situation with Ammiteo.  The director listened to his summary of the discussion, even as he looked over the data that the lifebearer had sent.  He waited for Idrisar to finish speaking before setting his data pad down and looking into those pretty, disturbed eyes.

"And you really believe our guest is related to the suspect?"

Idrisar nodded.  “That’s my suspicion, Sir, but without a DNA test to confirm it, I can’t presume there’s a blood relation.”

"If you were to venture a guess," said the director thoughtfully, "what sort of blood relation would you say there was?"

"I’m not sure," admitted the agent softly, lowering his gaze.  "During my brief encounter with the suspect, I got the feeling that he was old. Perhaps not ‘elder’ age yet, but old.  His speech was definitely ‘old school’, lacking the slang typical of today’s generation of lashran.  He had to be at least as old as I am, and Mr. Saber himself is pushing half a millennia.  I would say Sandman could be his son, but Mr. Saber doesn’t strike me as the sort that would turn his own offspring over to the authorities, no matter how estranged they might be.  I’m pretty sure he has only one child."

"The bassist for Evindar’s band," reasoned Ammiteo, remembering his own surprise when he discovered that little tidbit.  "Then maybe Mr. Saber is Sandman’s son, or brother."

 Idrisar nodded.  “I think that’s a possibility.  So, what are we going to do, sir?”

Ammiteo sighed and looked out the window, narrowing his eyes at the city outside.  He really didn’t want to send Agent Blackbird to a foreign, exotic land with a man like Saber.  Barring the obvious danger involved in fronting an investigation in the heart of pirate and mafia central, there was the matter of the chemistry Ammiteo sensed between the two of them.  Rogues like Saber drew admirers without even trying, and even a levelheaded person like Idrisar wasn’t immune to the flash of a charming smile from the man. 

Looking back at the agent in question, Ammiteo firmly reminded himself that Idrisar was an adult, and one of the most capable agents in the organization.  The lifebearer’s youthful good looks made his protective instincts swell, and he couldn’t allow that to color his decisions regarding Idrisar’s role in this investigation.  The man was a _grandfather_ , for Wyndrah’s sake.  In fact, Ammiteo was his junior at the age of eighty-seven.   

"Sir?"  Idrisar regarded him with quiet concern.

Ammiteo forced his reservations to the background and a solution came to him that would allow him to send Idrisar to Zarn and oversee the situation himself.  Who said he had to remain here in Valkyrie Falls?  Kent could oversee the goings-on here while he and Idrisar gathered intel overseas.

"Start packing tonight," Ammiteo said to the lifebearer.  "You and I are going to Zarn with Mr. Saber to take care of this, while our brethren here continue their efforts in Valkyrie Falls.  Please inform our guest of my decision."

Idrisar gave a nod.  “Yes, Sir.”

Feeling a need to reinforce what kind of man they were dealing with, Ammiteo gave him a parting precaution.  “I understand that you have a measure of respect for this man, Agent, but don’t forget who and what he is.”

Idrisar stopped with his hand hovering over the doorknob.  He lowered his head and stared at the floor.  “Maybe we shouldn’t judge him too harshly, sir.  The Ulvari-vash didn’t get its start by championing truth and justice, if you recall.”  He flexed the hand wearing the Mokalor and he sighed pensively.  “This is a weapon to take life, not preserve it.  It’s important that I remember that.”

Disturbed by the barren tone of his voice, Ammiteo frowned and approached him.  He gently laid big hands on the smaller man’s tense shoulders and tried to comfort him.  “You kill when you _have_ to, not because you _want_ to.  Sometimes killing is necessary in order to protect.  It’s the natural order of things, but you’re no cold and merciless death dealer.  We aren’t like _them_ , Agent Blackbird.”

Idrisar lifted his head and turned to gaze up at the director with clear blue eyes.  “Aren’t we?  Sometimes I think the line between them and us is thinner than we like to think.  They have their codes of honor and their laws, just like us.  Ah, pardon me, Sir.  I’m over-thinking things again and I really should be going.”

"Maybe you should take off early, this afternoon," suggested Ammiteo.  "Agent Wolfe and his team brought in the contractor suspect and I can take care of the arrangements with Director Kent."

"I appreciate that Director, but I still have a lot of work to do today.  I don’t want to fall behind or slack off.  Please excuse me."  Idrisar gave him a respectful little bow and left his office. 

When the lifebearer was gone, Ammiteo wondered if he should have gone to speak with Zevian himself, instead.

* * *

 

"Back so soon?" Zevian scanned the attractive agent with his eyes as he moved aside to let him into the suite.  "Not that I mind your company, of course.  I could get used to having you around, Agent Blackbird."

Idrisar handed a keycard to him.  “Here.  You’re free to come and go until we leave the city.  Ammiteo is putting together a team to accompany you to Zarn and travel arrangements are being made tonight.  We should have a flight out of here by tomorrow, so you should probably make any contacts you need to make.  The organization will pay for accommodation during this endeavor and—”

"Slow down."  Zevian interrupted the lifebearer’s stream of information—which he was reciting like some sort of grocery list.  "Take a breath, before you pass out."

Idrisar stopped and stared at him.  Zevian was treated to another burst of amusement at the agent’s expense.  Such a no-nonsense, determined thing he was.  Blackbird was nothing like the type of lifebearer he usually went for, yet he found himself making excuses to extend every moment he spent with him. 

"Your organization doesn’t have to worry about accommodation," explained Zevian for starters.  "I have safe places to stay at.  None of this means anything, if you aren’t on the team, though.  I made that requirement clear."

Idrisar’s gaze—so unusually direct for a lifebearer of Nandarian upbringing—held his.  “Would you mind telling me why my presence in this endeavor is so important to you?”

Zevian saw no reason to fabricate.  “Because unlike your colleagues, you’ve earned my respect…and my trust.  The deal is off if you aren’t part of the team.”

For a brief moment, Idrisar almost looked flattered.  He quickly schooled his expression back into one of careful control, though.  “Then it’s a good thing I’ve been assigned to the team, isn’t it?  Your men will be released in time to travel back with us.  I’ll give you the transport information as soon as I have the details, but I have to warn you that Ammiteo may not go for your offer to stay at your home and these other places you’ve mentioned.  I think he’s going to want to set up accommodation himself.”

"Not if he’s smart," advised Zevian seriously.  "I know you Ulvari are good at being inconspicuous, but you’re going to need some Zarnian threads to move around without looking like tourists.  You’re better off letting me handle the room and board—especially when we first arrive.  You ought to remember how the islands are."

Idrisar caught his upper lip between his teeth and he nodded, his pale blue eyes losing focus as he considered the reminder.  “Yes, I remember how they are.  All right, I’ll talk to him about it.  You should try to get as much rest as you can tonight, because I’m not sure exactly when we’re going to…Zevian, are you listening to me?”

The mafia boss was staring at the agent’s lips, his eyes drawn to them when Idrisar’s perfect little teeth nibbled them.  Zevian gave himself a mental nudge.  Now definitely wasn’t the time to be distracted by a cute lifebearer’s innocuous facial expressions. 

"You’re doing the right thing, trusting me to take care of the living arrangements," Zevian said, refusing to let the man treat him like a naughty child. 

"I wouldn’t use the word ‘trust’," countered Idrisar with a faint, dry smile.  Even that small curve of his lips lit up his eyes and made him even more appealing to look at.  "Let’s just say I’m conceding the point that you know the safest locations to stay at, and I don’t believe it’s in your best interest to lead us astray."

"We can say that, if it makes you feel better."  Zevian frowned in thought and leaned over a little, speaking in a low voice to garnish more attention.  "Oh, and I’ll need you to stick close to me in particular, Agent Blackbird."

Idrisar’s mouth curved again and something like a playful challenge glittered in his eyes.  “And why exactly is that, Mr. Saber?”

The gangster started to grin, despite his effort to keep it serious.  Part of it was a natural urge to protect him, of course.  The other part was purely respect, though.  “Because I remember clearly how much ass you can kick, and if someone’s going to be immediately at my back, I’d rather it be you.”

"I’ll see what I can do," promised the lifebearer with a smirk, loosening up a little.  "Good afternoon, Mr. Saber."

"Good afternoon, Agent Blackbird."  Zevian opened the door for him courteously.    

* * *

 

_That night, at Glaive’s apartment:_

He had never heard a sound like that from Haden before.  He’d heard his partner cry out in pain when stabbed once and he’d heard him yell in surprise when startled, but he had never heard this much _raw agony_ in his voice.  Waking up from a dead sleep to it was almost enough to make Glaive’s hair stand on end, like a surprised cat.  He sat up straight in the bed and hollered impulsively himself, reflexively reaching for the knife on his bedside table.  Seeing no visible threat, the lishere turned on the bedside lamp and stared at his companion.  Haden was tossing and turning on the satin sheets, his body sparkling with sweat and his mouth gaping with his cries.  His aura fairly screamed with terror and even the voices of the spirits were anxious for him.

"Haden," Glaive called, trying to wake him from whatever nightmare plagued him. 

The knight kept screaming.

Unable to bear it, Glaive reached out with his abilities and begged his companion’s spirit to show him what was wrong, so that he could fix it.  He was immediately plunged into a world of fire, ice, blood and poison.  He felt someone cutting into his side, but he couldn’t move.  He heard voices of men and women chatting about him, as if he were nothing more than an animal they were observing as a subject of curiosity.  They left him on whatever cold surface they had him strapped to, with an open cut on his side. 

He started to feel drowsy and he moved his lips to beg: “No more.”

This time, maybe he wouldn’t wake up again.  Maybe this time he would just die and all of this torture would end.  He lost consciousness.

Glaive came out of the trance with a violent jerk and he stared down at Haden with a horrifying realization: He’d just lived a moment of the procedure they’d used on his partner to make the lashran DNA bond with the human.  The information was there for him now.  They had to damage his body over and over again, provoking a reaction in the lashran cells to make them repair the damage and replace the parts that were burned, cut, frozen or corroded away.  That was how they augmented humans, and it explained why so few survived the procedure and why it was outlawed.  Provided the subject’s body didn’t reject the foreign cells, the process of bonding put major stress on the system.  If the lashran cells failed to react, the subjects could die of their injuries…or from the shock of them.

"Haden," murmured Glaive, running his hands over the pale, sweaty torso.  "Shh, you aren’t there anymore." 

He blanketed the man’s tortured soul, doing his best to soothe it and calm him down.  The cries faded into whimpers and Glaive traced one of the thin, faint scars over the knight’s ribcage.  He’d always assumed the faint marks here and there on the knight’s body were all battle scars, but now he suspected at least half of them were from his augmentation.  Haden tried to swing out at him, but his movements were uncoordinated and involuntary.  Glaive caught his arm and pinned it to his chest, rolling onto him to hold him down.

"Easy, love," coaxed the lishere, continuing with his ministrations.  "I’m not your enemy."

Haden’s struggles eased up and his eyes opened, wild and disoriented in the dim lamplight and practically black with pupil.  “Unh?  G-Glaive?”

"It’s all right," murmured Glaive.  He lowered his mouth to Haden’s and kissed him.  "You had a bad nightmare.  It’s over now."

Haden’s tension faded as reality sunk in and he panted softly, shutting his eyes.  “I haven’t had nightmares like that for a while, now.  I guess maybe I’m a little stressed out, with everything that’s going on.  Sorry.”

Glaive stroked his sweat-dampened hair and watched him with aching sympathy.  “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, mate. We’ve all got our demons to battle and you’re no exception.” 

He eased down beside the knight and coaxed him into his embrace, letting him rest his head against his chest while he stroked his hair continuously.  He normally wasn’t given to nurturing.  Life had been bitter for him, full of hard lessons and disappointments in humanity and lashran alike.  With Haden, however, it was surprisingly easy to let his softer side show and offer all the comfort he could.

"Go back to sleep," urged the lishere softly, resisting the urge to sing his spirit to sleep.  He didn’t want to manipulate him like that, unless Haden asked for it. 

"I don’t want to see it again," sighed the knight as he cuddled against his tawny counterpart.

Glaive’s coral eyes glittered as he reached out to turn off the lamp.  “Then you won’t, babe.  I’ve got your back.”  He didn’t retract the spirit blanket he’d wrapped the man in when he was trying to calm him.  It would hold until morning and prevent further nightmares.  

* * *

 

The next day, Ammiteo and Idrisar went to the airport with Zevian and the four men he’d traveled with.  Two of them were humans…which wasn’t so strange considering the outer islands of Zarn were as much a haven for human pirates as they were for lashran mafia.  Ammiteo had already contacted the Ulvari operatives stationed at the Chalice and they were prepared to lend their aid in the case, if necessary.  

"Yo boss, why aren’t we taking the company plane?"

Zevian looked at Therril, then at Ammiteo off to the left.  “Because our friends prefer to take care of the traveling arrangements.  It’s probably better this way, in the long run.  People expect us to take the private jet, and we don’t want to be too predictable.”

Therril and the others nodded.  The blond sire looked over at Idrisar with a covertly admiring glance, before leaning a little closer to his employer.  “How about that Agent Blackbird, boss?  Do you think you two might have something?”

Johnny was closest to Therril and when he heard, he looked between the attractive lifebearer and their boss with interest.  “Guys aren’t on my menu, but if they were I’d want to tap that.”

"I think you should all worry more about keeping alert for danger and less about my romantic business," muttered Zevian sternly, "but to quell any gossip you might decide to start amongst yourselves, Agent Blackbird is a business associate on this trip.  Keep that forefront in your minds and respect it, clear?"

All four of the gangsters nodded and Therril looked embarrassed for even bringing it up. 

* * *

 

It was a long flight and Idrisar began to notice that Ammiteo’s complexion was looking a bit green by the time they were passing over the southeastern tip of Avras.  “Director, is everything all right?”

Ammiteo gave him what was obviously intended to be a reassuring smile, but it came out looking like a grimace.  “Nothing to worry about.”

Idrisar sighed, knowing a “tough guy” fib when he saw it.  He’d raised a sire, after all.  He considered the best way to address the situation before Ammiteo’s pride resulted in a hasty retreat to the lavatory or worse—projectile vomiting.  Considering what he knew of pressure points, he came up with a solution that he thought would help the powerful director without wounding his pride. 

"May I see your wrists, Sir?"

Ammiteo arched a pale brow at him, but he didn’t question him.  Idrisar smiled at him and he turned each of the bigger man’s palms over so that they were facing upwards, baring his forearms and wrists.  He held each forearm just below the wrists and he put pressure in the middle of them with his thumbs, massaging the spots in little circles.  The strong tendons and thick muscles made it require a little more effort on his part, but he was confident that he could relieve the sire’s discomfort.

"What are you trying to do, Agent?"  Ammiteo sounded more curious than annoyed.

"Read your palms."  Idrisar pretended to stare at the lines in his hands.  "I foresee sickness in the near future for you, if you don’t cooperate."

 Ammiteo seemed to catch on and his chest rumbled with a low chuckle.  He leaned a little closer to the lifebearer.  “And you think this is going to work?”

Idrisar shrugged, smiling faintly as he met the director’s eyes and whispered back.  “It does for a lot of people, but if it should fail, I could always fetch a beverage for you and slip you a Mickey.  I used to do the same when my sons were sick and too stubborn to take medicine.”

"Laced chocolate milk, I’m guessing."  Ammiteo chuckled again, his smile broadening to reveal a glimpse of strong teeth.

"It allows them to stay macho," agreed Idrisar with a chuckle of his own, lowering his eyes.  "Maybe one day, you’ll have children of your own to manipulate."

Ammiteo shrugged.  “Maybe.” 

He watched Idrisar’s face, until the lifebearer sensed his stare and looked up at him.  “Is it helping, yet?”

Ammiteo nodded slowly, his purple gaze on Idrisar’s face.  “It’s helping.  Thank you.”

* * *

 

Zevian noticed the exchange between the Ulvari director and his agent and he watched covertly with interest from the row of seats across from them.  He sipped his cocktail and he took note of the way the big man couldn’t quite hide his admiration for the lifebearer agent.  He started to feel a twinge of jealousy, but then he noticed the way Idrisar spoke to him and interacted with Ammiteo and it went away, to be replaced with grudging pity.  

"Poor bastard."

Beside him, Adam glanced up from the magazine he was reading.  “What’s that, boss?”

Zevian made a dismissive gesture.  “Nothing.  I think I’ll see what sort of in-flight movies they’re offering.”

* * *

 

They arrived in Oricus that evening, around ten at night—but in Zarn, it was eight in the morning.  Everyone was jet-lagged from the long flight and understandably disoriented.  They synchronized watches and took a limo to one of the luxury hotels in the downtown area, not far from the airport.  Zevian confused the hell out of the Ulvari operatives when they settled into their suite and he came knocking on their door with his men, before they could even begin to look over the room service menu or make sleeping arrangements. 

Even more surprising than their unexpected interruption was the way Zevian was dressed.  He was wearing a gray and white chauffeur uniform, complete with the stylish gray hat and a pair of shades.  Idrisar stared dumbly up at him after opening the door, his tired mind wondering if there was some sort of Zarnian masquerade ball going on.  Zevian’s ponytail hung down his back as usual and the smile he flashed at Idrisar was typically charming.

"Cat got your tongue, Agent Blackbird?"

Idrisar gave himself a mental nudge and he pushed his glasses up on his nose before frowning at the man and his cohorts in confusion.  “What’s this about?”

"We’ve got to move," answered the mafia boss.  "May I?"  He gestured, seeking permission to enter. 

Idrisar cast one confused look over his shoulder at his superior before stepping aside and allowing the gangsters to file in with their luggage.  Ammiteo approached with a frown as the blond human in the group locked the suite door behind him. 

"Explain this."

"Happy to," answered Zevian as he started toward the bedroom.  He spoke over his shoulder to the baffled agents as he went.  "I find it’s best not to allow my movements to be tracked right away, even on my own island.  I’m the boss here, but I still have enemies looking for any opportunity to take me down."

Idrisar and Ammiteo followed him into the bedroom and Zevian grunted as he unlocked and opened the window against the back wall.  He stuck his head out, looked down at the street and nodded before turning to face them again. 

"We’re going to my home, gentlemen.  Checking in here was a necessary ruse.  It makes it harder to track me."  He offered a graceful, old-fashioned half-bow to Idrisar.  "Sorry for the shoddy exit, but we’ll have to use the fire escape to get to our transportation.  We should move before it starts raining."

Idrisar and Ammiteo looked at one another and shrugged, both too tired to argue with the crafty man.  A look down at the alley below revealed that there was a large, dark red sedan with tinted windows waiting for them.

* * *

 

Idrisar and Ammiteo sat in the back of the vehicle with three of Zevian’s men, while Therril sat up front on the passenger’s seat next to Zevian.  The buildings of Oricus were much older and closer together than those they were used to in Valkyrie Falls.  The streets were also narrow, and most of them were rough cobblestone.  The tan colored buildings, dark red brick streets, oil lamps and ferry canals lent a feeling of traveling back in time for the two Ulvari passengers.  It was both charming and exotic.  Market stalls lined the streets, bakeries and cheese shops had their doors open and on one street, a group of human and lashran children played jump rope together.  On the surface, the entire city seemed picturesque and perfectly safe—not quite the image of slums, drug lords and prostitutes that outsiders were wont to imagine.

"Welcome to Oricus Island," said Zevian from the driver’s seat.  "My name is Roy and I’ll be your driver today."

Idrisar stared at the back of the guild lord’s head as if he’d gone mad. “Excuse me?”  

"Remember to keep your head, arms and legs inside the cab at all times," the sire went on as if he hadn’t heard, "and _please_ , don’t touch my hat.”

Ammiteo began to lose patience.  “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but—” 

"If you hear gunfire," Zevian interrupted, "by all means, duck."

The other gangsters laughed.

"Enough playing around," demanded Idrisar.  "How far is our destination, Mr. Saber?"

Zevian adjusted the rearview mirror and peered over his shades through the reflective surface at Idrisar.  “The name’s Roy, while I’m in this getup.  To answer your question; it’s only about a fifteen minute shot to my home, once we hit the freeway.  I need to make a brief stop before we board said transport path, though.”

"For what?" Ammiteo asked.

Zevian’s aqua gaze met Idrisar’s through the mirror.  “Your agent knows.”

Idrisar frowned.

"Check the date," suggested Zevian, all humor vanishing from his eyes and voice.

Noticing the respectful spiritual gestures that Zevian’s men suddenly made, Idrisar looked down at his watch and he understood.  He nodded and he gave his superior a sidelong look of warning when Ammiteo looked like he might ask further questions.

"I’ll explain later," promised Idrisar.

* * *

 

 Some ten minutes later, Zevian drove the vehicle into a well-kept graveyard.  He drove the narrow path up to a hill, where a large weeping purple-bloom tree stood over a circle of graves.  The lovely blossoms from the tree’s graceful, arching limbs drifted down in the spring breeze, covering the graves of islanders buried near its shade. 

"We won’t be long," explained the guild lord, his gaze on the crest of the hill.  "Please excuse us." 

Zevian and his men got out and a rumble of distant thunder prompted one of them to open his umbrella and hold it over Zevian’s head.  The five of them walked up the hill together, leaving Ammiteo and Idrisar alone in the back of the car.

"What’s going on, here?" Ammiteo asked, his frowning gaze on the mobsters.  Zevian stopped before one of the graves beneath the massive tree and he removed his hat.  He knelt before the grave and all of his men except for Therril left his side to give him a moment of privacy.

"It’s his Vashekna anniversary," explained Idrisar with a sigh.  His pale gaze was on the mafia lord with sympathy he didn’t bother trying to hide.  "His mate Urahis lies in that grave.  One of the things I learned about Zevian in my time with him was that there are three dates he never fails to visit his spouse’s grave on.  This is one of them."

Ammiteo’s irritation softened, prompted by this unexpected glimpse of the man beneath the mobster and the sympathy shining in Idrisar’s beautiful eyes.  “What are the other two?”

Idrisar took his glasses off and he removed the case from his blazer pocket, to wipe the lenses with the soft cloth inside.  “Urahis’ birthday, and the day of his death.  You see, Director, there’s a lot more to this man than you think.”

Ammiteo was stricken by a feeling of jealousy.  He couldn’t help it.  “You’re attracted to him.”

Idrisar stopped what he was doing and he looked at him from beneath lowered lashes.  “I _feel_ for him,” he explained softly.  He sighed again and he replaced his glasses over his eyes, watching the mafia lord pay his respects outside as the first drops of rain began to fall.  “I know what it’s like.”

* * *

 

Zevian brushed aside some dead leaves and flower petals that had settled on his mate’s grave.  He forced a smile as he traced the runic lettering that spelled out Urahis’ name on his epitaph. 

"Hey, beautiful.  How are you doing?  I’m sorry I almost forgot today.  It’s funny how things can line up.  I would have made it up to you." 

He turned and he motioned at Therril, silently demanding the umbrella the other sire was holding over him.  Therril gave it up without an argument and took his cue, moving away to join the others under their umbrellas while the boss finished his conversation with his deceased mate.

"Where was I?"  Zevian twirled the chauffeur cap around one gloved finger.  "Ah, right.  Our son’s just as stubborn as ever.  I’m not too happy with his choice in mates, but what can you do, right?  The kid loves him and I know you’d say that’s all that really matters.  Let’s hope you’re right."

He sighed and glanced over his shoulder as the rain began to fall harder.  The tree overhead sheltered the area, muting the force of the downpour.  “Something’s happening, Urahis.  I might finally have the chance to finish what I started.  He’s not dead, love.  Not yet.  I was wrong, about that.  I have people here with me that might be able to help me correct it all.”

* * *

 

"I can’t describe what it’s like," Idrisar’s soft, earnest voice said within the shelter of the vehicle.  His gaze remained fixated on Zevian, as if he felt his pain himself.  "You enter Vashekna believing that you’ll live out the rest of your days with this person who makes you feel complete.  Even if one of you outlives the other, you believe you’ll at least raise your children together…watch them grow and have the one person you trust the most at your side to help you through those hard times."

Idrisar sighed in a shaken manner and lowered his gaze.  He plucked at a loose thread on his dark blue blazer and shook his ebony-dyed head.  “But then fate takes that person away from you, and you wake up alone, devastated and faced with the realization that you have to do your childrearing without your partner.” 

Idrisar leaned his head back against the seat and he turned it to look at Ammiteo.  “There’s no way to prepare for such a thing.”  He looked at the gangster outside again and he nodded at him.  “He’s no exception.  I lost my mate through the decay of cancer.  He lost his in a violent attack.  I used to think I had it worse, watching my Leison wither away; but he died peacefully in his sleep, in the end.  There was no easing Mr. Saber’s mate into the next life, Ammiteo.  His life was torn from him in a hail of bullets while his mate watched—and all because one arrogant man wanted to hurt Zevian so badly, he broke the laws of the brotherhood and went after blood relations.”

"I never knew any of this," confessed Ammiteo softly.

"And you can’t repeat it," insisted Idrisar.  "I’m telling you this so that you can have a better understanding of our ally, Director.  No matter what you or I might think of his lifestyle or his organization, he’s just as lashran as we are.  He’s loved and lost, and he has a son he had to raise all alone."

"You have a lot in common with him," murmured Ammiteo, seeing now that there was more to Idrisar’s feelings for the man than simple attraction. 

Idrisar sighed.  “On the subject of bereavement and single parenthood, yes.”

Ammiteo lapsed into thoughtful silence.

* * *

 

-To be continued   


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

_Oricus island of Zarn, around 10:30 pm Zarnian time:_

The day went faster than expected.  After visiting his mate’s grave, Zevian took the two Ulvari to his beach home, gave them the grand tour and had their things put into the guest rooms.  After that, he dragged them to his favorite clothing venue to procure a selection of clothes that better suited the culture and climate of Zarn.  Afterwards, they ate lunch at a seaside bistro, before meeting up with a contact from the Ulvari operatives that were stationed at the Chalice, working as liaisons between their guild and the Zarn Council.  The meeting took a couple of hours, due to the complexity of the situation and the amount of information that had to be exchanged.  When that was over with, they went back to Zevian’s home and started cracking down on further arrangements for the case, via computers and data pads.

Zevian started his back-tracking, relying solely on memory to start getting in touch with people to retrieve the information he’d once arranged to wipe out of the system.  It was going to take time and it would require the help of his old contacts—some of which still owed him favors and some of which didn’t.  He wasn’t particularly concerned about the latter.  He would find a way to get what he needed. 

When he looked at his watch and saw the time, he decided he’d done enough researching for the night and he shut his computer down.  He locked the device before leaving his study, ensuring that anyone without the key would have to break the case open to power it up, before even attempting to decode his password to get into the system.  He shut the light out as he left the room and he went upstairs, intending to ask his guests if they wanted a nightcap before bed.  As he traveled down the arching hallway, he heard Ammiteo snoring from behind the locked door of the first guest room and he shrugged.  He moved onto the next guest room and he found the door to be open a crack, with soft light streaming out of it. 

Zevian approached the door and he parted his lips to call out softly to Agent Blackbird.  He stopped when he caught a glimpse of the lifebearer at the polished wooden desk.  Idrisar had his laptop sitting open and powered up but he wasn’t typing at it.  The computer was sitting near the wall and its owner had apparently decided to rest his eyes for a moment, only to fall fast asleep at the desk.  Idrisar had his arms crossed over the surface of the desk beside the computer, with his head resting on top of them.  His face was turned toward the door and his dark hair fell partway over his eyes.  His glasses were sitting on the keyboard of the laptop and his shapely lips were parted in sleep.

The guild lord studied his guest appraisingly, fully aware that on an ordinary day, his chances of creeping up on the operative without waking him were slim, indeed.  This was no ordinary day, though.  There were smudges of fatigue beneath Idrisar’s eyes and he didn’t react at all when the door creaked slightly as Zevian pushed it open further.  The sire tilted his head a little and watched his guest.  He looked so youthful and sweet, sleeping there like that.  He could have easily been mistaken for a tired college student, driven to pass out from studying. 

_~”You’ve got a lot on your plate, don’t you Agent Blackbird?  Your department is depending on you and the city you call home is being terrorized on your watch.  It stings, doesn’t it?  You hate feeling like a failure, even when you know you’ve done everything you could possibly do and then some.  Overachiever.”~_

The sire leaned over the slumbering man quietly and he glanced at the screen with curiosity.  He wasn’t surprised to see several browser tabs shrunk, on various subjects.  It seemed that Idrisar was researching the latest regional news, boning up on what had happened recently over the islands.  He doubtlessly already knew enough about Zarn culture, territorial boundaries and pirate activity to get by, but Idrisar was a thorough fellow.

What interested Zevian more than the research the agent was conducting was the unfinished virtual mail left open in the upper right corner of the screen.  The guild lord peered at it and he realized it was addressed to Idrisar’s sons and their families.  Zevian skimmed over it enough to establish that it was a letter to assure Idrisar’s family that he was well and keeping them in his thoughts. 

Zevian looked at Idrisar again and he opened up his senses.  “It’s worn off,” he whispered to the oblivious lifebearer. 

He reached out and gently brushed Idrisar’s dark bangs away from his eyes.  It came as no surprise.  It had been a while.  Considering the circumstances and what they would soon be dealing with, he took advantage of Idrisar’s uncommonly vulnerable state and he re-applied the spiritual shield he’d put on the agent, the last time they encountered each other.  Idrisar must have sensed the protective barrier settling over his spirit, because his eyes opened and he jerked awake with a start. 

"Whoa, easy," cautioned Zevian, hopping back as the agent activated the Mokalor on his left hand and exploded into motion.  He’d forgotten how bloody fast Idrisar could move.  As the lifebearer jumped out of his chair and settled into a graceful, deadly defensive stance, Zevian ignored his instinct to reach for his own weapons. 

"Easy," he said again to the disoriented—but extremely dangerous—agent.  "It’s just me."

Idrisar’s combat stance relaxed, but he didn’t sheath his claws.  “What did you do to me?”

"You’re okay—" Zevian tried to explain, but the lifebearer was having none of it.

"What did you _do_ , Zevian?”  Idrisar’s eyes glowed and though he didn’t have his glasses on to aid his vision, the sire was sure he wouldn’t miss, if he decided to attack.  “I felt…something.  I know it wasn’t just my imagination.  Something was trying to muffle me, somehow.”

"You’re wrong," corrected Zevian, keeping his voice low so as not to wake the other Ulvari a couple of doors down.  "I wasn’t muffling you.  Calm down and re-examine it, if you don’t believe me.  The effect should already be wearing off."

Keeping his wary gaze on him, Idrisar seemed to take his advice and listen inwardly.  He gave the mafia lord a puzzled little frown, his elegantly handsome, youthful features softening.  “Okay,” he said grudgingly, “explain it to me.”

"I shielded you," answered Zevian.  "The way I shield myself.  It defends against intrusion from spirit singers.  With what we’re going up against, I wanted you protected.  I didn’t finish it though, because you woke up and went into attack mode."

The blades of the Mokalor retreated into their sheaths and Idrisar’s eyes unfocused.  “This…shield of yours…it stops spirit singers from putting you to sleep?”

"Amongst other things," agreed Zevian.  "It also stops them from reading you—and it serves the same purpose against magical divination.  No spirit singer or sorcerer can use their abilities to read or manipulate you, as long as the shield holds.  They could break it down given enough time, but they would have to have you in custody and interpret how I wove the ether net before they could unravel it."

Idrisar shook his head and rubbed his forehead with the fingertips of his unadorned right hand.  “Zevian, have you done this to…I mean _for_ me before?”

He saw no reason to lie.  “Yes.  The last time we met, after we got into that fix with the Valkyrie Falls mafia family.”

"When did you have the time to do it?"  Idrisar frowned in concentration as if trying to remember.

Zevian shrugged.  “You were zonked out on pain meds in the hospital.  I was getting deported, but I managed to pull a few strings to come see you first.”

The lifebearer gave him an exasperated look.  “So you did it while I was vulnerable and unable to consent…just like tonight.”

“ _Would_ you have let me do it, if I asked?” Demanded Zevian, refusing to allow the agent to cloud the situation with his morality. 

Idrisar faltered and shrugged fluidly, lowering his pretty eyes.  “Maybe.”

"Bullshit."  Zevian kept his expression sober as Idrisar gave him a startled look.  Sensing that he had the upper hand in this little argument, the sire stepped closer, until they were only two feet apart.  He held the smaller man’s gaze and let him in on his theory.  "I know you, Ulvari.  You’re too proud to accept protection from a Zarnian mafia dog like me.  You probably would have let those thugs cut you down with bullets that day in the warehouse, if you didn’t have grandkids to think about.  The only reason you’re even working with me right now is because it’s a means to an end.  You’d never accept my help just because I want to give it."

Idrisar bristled.  “Do you really think I’m that shallow?  I’m perfectly capable of accepting help from others—regardless of their lineage or lifestyle—when it’s warranted.”

Zevian smiled challengingly.  “Are you?  Then let me finish what I started.  Let me complete the shield.  It’s going to help against any spirit keepers we run into while we’re doing this operation here, and this is going to turn into a shit storm if we catch up with Sandman.  I think you know that.  You might not have seen what he can do but—”

"I’ve seen it," interrupted Idrisar, his face troubled.  "I’ve witnessed it up close and personal, in fact."  He rubbed his right thigh and the action wasn’t lost on Zevian.

The guild lord nodded at the leg.  “Something tells me he left a mark.”

Idrisar made a dismissive gesture.  “He got past my guard.  I gave as good as I got.”

Zevian smirked, his eyes roving over the agent’s body with veiled admiration.  “I have no doubt you did.”

Idrisar sighed.  “You’ve saved my life twice now.”

"How so?"  He raised his brows curiously.

"First in the warehouse that day," answered the Ulvari, "and again when I encountered Sandman, when I tried to protect Dr. Adder.  He tried to put me to sleep and if he had succeeded, he might have just slit my throat or shot me and called it a day.  I thought he was just distracted from his injuries when it failed to work, and some of my coworkers thought I might have some sort of immunity to spirit singing.  It was you, though."

"Hmph…I’ll bet he was pissed when his naptime trick didn’t work on you.  Too bad I couldn’t have seen that."  Zevian sobered.  Idrisar wasn’t an easy man to injure.  He’d seen him dodge flying bullets like some kind of fucking superhero, and he was still convinced that the only reason one of them hit him was because there were just too damned many for him to dodge them all.     

"Thank you."

Zevian’s thoughts froze in his head at the simple utterance.  He stared at the other man with open surprise. 

Evidently realizing how unexpected the gratitude was, Idrisar elaborated.  “I’m not happy that you did it without asking, but I don’t want to seem ungrateful for your efforts on my behalf.  So thank you, and please finish what you started before I woke up.”

Zevian kept staring at him until Idrisar blushed and looked away.  “I’m capable of being humble, Mr. Saber.  I can admit when I need help, despite what you may think.”

Zevian was unreasonably enchanted.  He’d never seen the agent look contrite, and the only time he’d ever seen him flush was in anger or indignation.  He’d thought Agent Blackbird was a little cold and aloof, but now he saw a different side of him.  Idrisar didn’t lack passion after all; he simply didn’t allow his instinctive reactions and emotions to _rule_ him.  He was master of himself—a thing with few people achieved in their lifetimes. 

Maybe Idrisar was closer to his type than he thought.

"Every time I think I’ve got you figured out, you throw another curve my way."  Zevian smiled crookedly at him as the lifebearer met his eyes again.  "But I’m glad you’re being reasonable about this.  Just relax, and I’ll get you nice and suited up."

Idrisar took a deep breath and nodded, shutting his eyes.  Unable to resist taking some small advantage of the situation, Zevian stepped closer and cupped the lifebearer’s face in his hands.  He half-expected Idrisar to pull away from him, but he didn’t.  He brushed his thumbs over the sculpted, high cheekbones, admiring Idrisar’s bone structure as he finished weaving the spirit shield. 

It made him feel undeniably good, to have this man standing there so trustingly, letting him caress his face and weave the ether around him.  Idrisar’s expression relaxed further as the sire finished up and when his tempting lips parted, Zevian forgot himself and started to lower his mouth to his.  A very faint, barely perceptible sound issued from Idrisar’s mouth when Zevian’s lips were a mere inch away and the mafia lord stopped, frowning.

Idrisar was snoring.  He was _literally_ asleep on his feet.

When he got over his surprise at the weirdness of the situation, it struck Zevian as both funny and adorable.  “You poor kid,” he whispered.  Clearly, the Ulvari agent was even more exhausted than he’d thought.

Knowing he was risking a limb by doing so but unwilling to let him fall, Zevian put a supportive arm around the smaller man and he gently nudged him.  “Blackbird…wake up.”

Idrisar jerked awake, looking startled.  “Hunh?  S-Saber?”

"You nodded off," explained Zevian quickly, eyeing the Mokalor secured to Idrisar’s left hand warily.  "And no, I didn’t have anything to do with it.  I know it’s not my business, but maybe you ought to lay down and go to sleep."

Idrisar looked up at him with disorientated, pale eyes and he bit his lower lip.  “I’m sorry…I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

"Jet lag," excused the mafia lord with a shrug.  "You and that behemoth you came here with are probably going to need a day or two before you acclimate."

Idrisar covered a yawn and nodded.  “I remember.  Hmm, you don’t seem to suffer this problem.”

"I’m used to traveling a lot."  Zevian released the lifebearer and stepped back, guessing he’d probably ask him what the hell he thought he was doing if he kept holding him like that.  "Well, you’re all set.  I’ll leave you to it."

"Wait," demanded Idrisar when the sire was halfway to the door.  "About that ‘behemoth.’, as you called him."

Zevian turned to regard him curiously.  ”Hmm?”

"I want you to do the same for him that you’ve done for me, tomorrow."

Zevian frowned.  “You want me to shield him, you mean.”

"Yes."  Idrisar nodded, his tired eyes going to the window near the wardrobe.  He rubbed his arms and lowered his head, letting his ebony bangs fall over his eyes.  "Like you said; this will help us resolve this situation faster.  We need every advantage we can get."

"I generally save the effort for people I _like_ , Agent Blackbird.  What has your director done for me?”

"He gave me permission to come here as you requested," answered Idrisar without missing a beat.  "And he’s going to be helping me protect you, if something goes wrong.  In addition, you would have my gratitude."

Zevian had to hand it to him; he made some good, rational points and his closing sentence was charming.  He gave in with a sigh; more to please the lifebearer than out of any real desire to expend more of his own spirit energy to protect Ammiteo. 

"You talked me into it," murmured Zevian.  "I’ll do it tomorrow, before we go out to do anything else. You should get as much sleep as you can tonight.  I’ll be taking you to my den tomorrow, where we’ll be meeting up with one of my contacts from Voldus.  He might have some information on Sandman we can use.  I’ve got my people tracking down the data I had pulled on him too, but that’s going to take a while.  I assume you’re more interested in finding out what he’s doing in the present than what he did in the past."    

"True," agreed Idrisar.  He fought another yawn.  "But the more we know about his past, the better we can predict what he might do in the present.  Every little bit is going to help."

Zevian thought of how much effort Blackbird was extending to get this done and he smirked at him.  “You _really_ want to get this guy, don’t you?”          

Idrisar gazed at him levelly.  “Yes.  He’s made my city his base of operations and I made a commitment to protect Valkyrie Falls.  I want to bring this fucker down and ensure he can’t harm anyone else.”

Zevian’s eyebrows went up.  He’d guessed as much, but hearing a man who rarely cussed drop the f-bomb so casually was a bit of a shock.  The Nandarian lilt to his accent made the word sound—almost—tasteful.  He blurted a laugh before he could stop himself.  “You should cuss more often, Agent.”

"Believe me," assured Idrisar with a smirk of his own, "I’ve used more vulgarities since you showed up at our headquarters than I’ve used all year.  You bring it out in me.  Goodnight, Mr. Saber."

Zevian opened the door and he started to wish the other man a good night in return, but his gaze went to the traditional, deadly weapon fastened to Idrisar’s hand.  “Out of curiosity, do you _ever_ take that thing off?”

Idrisar glanced down at it and he flexed the fingers of the hand it was adorning.  “Of course.  I don’t wear it to bed or to bathe or swim.  It wouldn’t make much sense for me to go without it when I’m on the job, though.”

Zevian nodded in understanding.  “You don’t use that hand when you pee, do you?”

Idrisar blinked.  “What?”

The mafia lord shrugged.  “I’m just saying it could get really messy and painful if those claws come out by accident while you’re handling your stuff.”

"Er, no, I don’t ‘handle’ my ‘stuff’ with this hand.  That’s one of the first things they teach Mokalor specialists _not_ to do, in fact.”

"Well, that’s good to know, but you might want to think about taking it off before you use the toilet anyway, when you’re this tired.  I don’t want to wake up to screams and find out you’ve neutered yourself."

"I’ll…keep that in mind."  Idrisar was obviously trying not to laugh.  "Goodnight."

Zevian spared a wink at him.  “See you in the morning.”

* * *

 

After the door was shut and he was alone in his room once more, Idrisar shook his head and smirked, looking down at the beautiful, intricate weapon on his left hand.  “Neuter myself,” he snorted.  Zevian was such a hard man to predict; sexy and refined one moment, guileless as a little boy the next. 

Idrisar blinked and fought another yawn.  He squinted at the laptop still sitting powered up on the desk and he decided his virtual mail to his sons could wait until morning to be completed and sent.  Realizing he was going to need to urinate before he went to bed, he looked down at his weapon again and frowned.  Silly as it was, Zevian’s cautionary observation made him think twice about wearing the object to the bathroom.

Idrisar removed the gauntlet before going to the bathroom to relieve his bladder and brush his teeth.  When he returned, he changed into his sleep pants and climbed into the big bed, appreciating how comfortable it was.  As soon as he turned off the lamp and shut his eyes, he thought of Zevian’s comment again and he snickered into the darkness.  Annoyed with himself, he muffled the sound in the pillow and blamed it on fatigue delirium.  He’d seen his kids and grandkids demonstrate cases of the “sleepy giggles” before, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten them. 

Like hiccups, they didn’t go away easily.  Every time he settled down, he pictured that ridiculously earnest look on Zevian’s handsome face as he expressed his fear for the safety of Idrisar’s ‘stuff’, and the snickering began anew. 

"Dammit, Zevian," muttered the agent into his pillow. 

Eventually, the giggle fits died down and Idrisar’s body succumbed to its need for rest.  Even in his sleep, he occasionally huffed a chuckle. 

* * *

 

-To be continued


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

_Oricus island, the next morning:_

"I’m really not comfortable with this."  Ammiteo spoke softly to his subordinate in his room after Idrisar came asking to speak with him.  "And to be honest, I’m surprised you allowed him to do it to you."

 ”What choice do we have?” demanded the lifebearer, speaking in an equally soft voice.  “If we want to catch this man, we’re going to need every advantage, Director.  I’m not thrilled about it either, but the alternative is going in defenseless against his spirit singing abilities, when we do manage to catch up with him.”

"But it won’t protect against elemental manipulations," reasoned Ammiteo, crossing powerful arms across his robe-covered chest. 

"No, it won’t," agreed Idrisar with a shake of his dark head, "but he won’t be able to put us to sleep or otherwise tamper with our free will.  Personally, I find _that_ scarier than a gust of wind or even being set on fire.”

Ammiteo sighed.  “What about Agent Glaive?  Couldn’t he do this for us?  He’s an _actual_ spirit singer, after all.”

"We don’t know what we could be up against while we’re here," insisted Idrisar.  "Sandman could have allies within the Spirit Keeper guild, and if they learn that we’re seeking information on him, they could come after us."

"I…hadn’t considered that," admitted the director with a frown. 

"Well I have," murmured Idrisar.  "And I insist that you do this, sir.  I don’t want to see you get injured because you refused to accept help from a gangster.  If I can swallow my pride, so can you."

Ammiteo stared at him, admiring his earnest face in the morning light.  “You worry about me getting injured?”

"Of course I do," answered the lifebearer readily.  "You’re the only thing holding our department together."  He smiled teasingly at him.

Ammiteo returned the smile and he had to remind himself of why they were there.  “I meant it when I said I trust your judgment.  If you think this is the best thing to do, then I’ll go along with it.”

Idrisar nodded and relaxed.  “Thank you, Director.  I’ll feel much better about this whole thing, knowing you’ve got some measure of protection as well.”

* * *

Azurel had no idea Zevian was back in town already, until he left his room to go downstairs for the day’s work and he heard one of the dancing girls exclaim that he’d just pulled up in his car outside.  Azurel perked up immediately and he ran back into his room to freshen up a little before hurrying to the stairs.  He saw Zevian walk through the front doors of the club with some of his men and two lashran Azurel had never seen before. 

The lifebearer had black, collar-length hair with long bangs and he had on a pair of simple, wire-framed glasses over a pair of arresting, pale blue eyes.  He was wearing a pair of cream-colored pants and an open-collar, red button-up shirt with short sleeves.  The sire next to him was a prime specimen, big and tall with purple eyes, collar-length, spiked hair of an ash-blond, almost silver color.  He had ruggedly handsome features and the lobes of his ears were pierced with a single rhinestone on each side.  He wore a pair of blue jeans and a black muscle shirt.  Though the style and cut of their clothing was Zarnian, they had a foreign manner about them.

Azurel dismissed the strangers when he looked at Zevian.  The island lord was looking sharp as usual in an ensemble of black pants and a white button-up shirt.  His octagonal shades concealed his eyes and he left some of his hair free of his ponytail to frame his face.  Today, he wore his guns in holsters strapped to his thighs and the weapons themselves were thin enough not to be clunky or hindering in that position.  This time of year was too warm for him to wear many layers of clothing, so his arsenal naturally consisted of small, easily hidden weapons.  People greeted him as he walked in and Azurel started down the stairs with a broad smile.

"Zevian!"

* * *

 

Idrisar had time to observe the high ceiling, the chandelier, the bar against the back and the dancers on the two platforms in the center of the club before the call distracted him.  He looked up at the sound and he saw a lifebearer that reminded him of a beautiful, exotic bird leaning over the balustrade of the second floor deck.  He had lavender hair falling to his waist that darkened into black at the tips.  It was thick and it was layered around his face to feather back.  He wore a pair of tight-fitting silver pants and an open black shirt with long, puffy sleeves.  He came running down the grand staircase with a dancer’s grace, nimbly avoiding people passing by him on the way. 

Zevian smiled at the lifebearer and he hugged him briefly as he made it across the room.  “Hey, gorgeous.”  He kissed the lifebearer on the crown of his head and turned him toward the agents.  “Meet a couple of friends of mine from Avras.  This is Idrisar and Ammiteo.  They’ll be staying with me for a while, to help me take care of some business.  Gentlemen, this is Azurel.  He’s one of my entertainers here and he’ll take care of you if there’s anything you need.  Right?”  He looked at the young lifebearer questioningly, who nodded.

"Absolutely."  Azurel looked both men up and down.  "Avras, eh?  What part, may I ask?"

"Valkyrie Falls," answered Idrisar, noticing the way Zevian kept one arm around the exotic-looking lifebearer.  He really was quite a beautiful thing; about an inch shorter than Idrisar, toned like a dancer and gifted with delicate, nearly androgynous features and unusual ruby eyes.   

The other lifebearer tilted his head, seeming content in Zevian’s half-embrace.  “Where is that?”

 ”It’s a large port city on the southeastern part of Avras,” explained Idrisar readily, remembering that formal educations were a luxury on the outer islands of Zarn.  Azurel spoke Avran well enough, but as Idrisar understood it, most residents of the outer islands were bilingual as a result of the trade cartel with human pirates from both Ocathia and Avras.  The Zarn islands were the only multi-cultural lashran country.  The islands surrounding the Chalice had developed their own unique culture from the mixture of human and lashran influences, though the lashran culture still reigned strongest.  The Chalice itself remained culturally lashran and was rather intolerant of humans.  It was practically a different country unto itself.  

"It’s about the size of your capital," added Ammiteo, watching Azurel with fascination he couldn’t completely hide.  "The buildings are very different, though."

"Interesting," said Azurel.  "I would like to see it, some day." 

"Maybe some day, I’ll take you," said Zevian.  He released Azurel from his half-embrace and patted him on the shoulder.  "Now go and get some people to help you set up the VIP lounge for a meeting.  We’ve got company coming from Voldus and they ought to be here by noon."

Azurel looked at the clock over the bar.  “It’s going to be a bit of a rush, but I think we’ll manage.”

"That’s what I like to hear."  Zevian gave him a smile and the lifebearer smiled back in an almost fawning manner before hurrying to do as he was bidden. 

The two Ulvari agents watched Azurel go.  “How long have you two known each other?” Idrisar questioned, trying to concentrate on his surroundings as he studied the place.  Ammiteo was likewise looking around.  Observation was important in their line of work, and knowing where all possible entries and exits were located was a must.

"About three years, now," answered the guild lord.  Zevian gave his underlings a nod and they went to mingle, leaving him alone with the two agents.  He led them to a table in the back, under the balustrade of the second floor platform.  "What will you have to drink, gentlemen?  It’s on the house."

It took Idrisar a moment to comprehend the question, because he was puzzling over why Zevian never mentioned Azurel before.  He didn’t remember him saying anything about the lavender-haired lifebearer when he saw him a year ago and he hadn’t even hinted that he was with anyone now, until he greeted Azurel so warmly. 

"Blackbird?"  Zevian tugged his sunglasses down a little to peer over the top of them at him.  "Are you still in there?"

"I’ll just have water," answered Idrisar hastily, willing himself not to flush over his lapse.  "I need to stay alert."

Zevian shrugged.  “Boring, but do-able.  What about you, Ammiteo?” He had no surname to use in the director’s case and he couldn’t go around calling either of them “agents” out loud, where anyone could hear it.

"It’s too early for me," answered the director.  "I’ll have water too."

Zevian sighed.  “Leave it to a pair of Ulvari to pass up the opportunity to have a buzz before lunch.”  He motioned one of the serving girls over.

"Did you have a good trip, Mr. Saber?" asked the pretty, auburn-haired young woman with a smile of greeting for them all.

Zevian gave his companions a dry look.  “I ran into a little trouble with the authorities, but it go cleared up fast enough.  Bring us two ice waters and a glass of red, babe.”

"Coming right up."  She winked at him before sauntering off.

Zevian’s smile faded when he noticed the look he was getting from Idrisar.  “What?”

Inwardly, the lifebearer was wondering the same thing.  What business was it of his if Saber flirted with everything in sight?  For that matter, what business of his was it if he was sleeping with everyone in this joint?  None. 

"Nothing," he answered smoothly.  "I was just mentally reviewing some things for safety reasons."

* * *

 

Azurel approached their table thirty minutes later with news.  “The lounge is ready for the meeting, Zevian.”

The mafia lord looked up at him and nodded.  “Good.  So tell me why you look so worried.”

"Therril sent me down to tell you that he got a call from one of the people you had tracking the liaison.  It’s not good."

Zevian frowned, glancing sidelong at his companions.  He’d put people onto the task of monitoring the contact sent from Voldus to avoid any nasty surprises, because he had a deep-seated mistrust and dislike of the island’s guild lord.  He would have liked to avoid dealing with anyone from there altogether, but he was sure they had more recent information on Sandman than he did, simply because of the events that happened before he vanished.

"Well, tell me what the matter is," he demanded.

"L’daris is coming himself," answered the lifebearer.  His garnet eyes betrayed old fear that only Zevian understood, of everyone Azurel had come to know since coming to Oricus.  "Your initial contact must have told him and he insists on discussing the matter with you personally."

 Zevian swore beneath his breath.

"I take it this is going to be an issue," guessed Ammiteo grimly.

"And then some," agreed Zevian.  "L’daris hates me as much as I hate him.  Who deserves the hatred more depends on whom you ask."

"L’daris does," answered Azurel immediately.

Zevian gave the lifebearer a brief smirk.  “Of course, _you_ would say that.  Dammit, this is going to complicate things.  He’s not going to give over the information easily, even if he has it.  I can’t trust his word to be legit, either.”

Ammiteo chose his words carefully.  “You can’t detect whether he’s telling the truth?”

Zevian shook his head.  “Not the way you’re hoping, no.  I’ve got a working knowledge of how the man thinks, but he can still slip things past me.”

"What about the other guild lord?" suggested Idrisar.  "Would he have anything useful to offer?"

"Xellnaise has enough trouble to worry about with the pirate lords on Azirus.  He’s only got passing knowledge of Sandman and none of it is anything I didn’t already know.  I’m not going to drag the man into this fracas."

 ”Then you’ll just have to find out what he wants in exchange for his cooperation and give it to him.”  Idrisar’s matter-of-fact tone made it sound so simple.

"If I do that, someone else could wind up paying for it," answered Zevian.  His eyes went to the beautiful young lifebearer he’d rescued from the man’s influence three years ago and he frowned.  The people he cared about always ended up paying the price, when he clashed with the Undir family.  

Azurel seemed to pick up on his concern and he knelt gracefully before Zevian, laying his hands over the sire’s knees as he looked up into his eyes.  “I know what you’re thinking.  I’m not worried.  You won’t let it happen.”

Zevian heaved a sigh and he reached out to stroke the soft, violet hair.  So trusting and loyal, this one.  “I want you out of sight, kid.  Got it?”

"But—"

"What was one of the first rules I gave you, when I took you in?" Interrupted the guild lord.

Azurel sighed and lowered his gaze.  “Do what you ask without question.”

"Right."  Zevian ruffled his hair affectionately.  "And if I say I want you safely out of sight, you stay safely out of sight.  Don’t complicate this further by offering yourself up as a temptation to this guy, beautiful."

"Okay."  Azurel’s soft, subdued voice revealed his unhappiness with the decision, but Zevian knew it wasn’t because he was eager to see his old boss again.  Quite simply, the darling thing wanted to try and protect him.  Pretty as he was, Azurel was fiercer than people gave him credit for. 

"Get up and have a seat next to me," Zevian commanded. "You look like a page kneeling at a king’s court."

Azurel smiled a little and did as he was bidden, laying his head on Zevian’s shoulder affectionately as he sat in the seat beside him.  Zevian impulsively stroked his hair and looked at his Ulvari guests.  “I’m open for suggestions, gentlemen.”

"You can’t back out of the meeting now," insisted Idrisar.

Zevian gave him an amused look and then shifted his attention to Ammiteo.  “He’s like a dog with a bone, this one.  What about you?  Do you have anything a little more helpful than ‘just do it’?”

"You know this man better than we do," answered the director.  "We’re here to assist, but ultimately it’s up to you to hunt down the information you claim you can get on these islands."

Beside him, Idrisar nodded and took another sip of his water.  “We’ll be in there with you, so if he tried anything—”

"No, you won’t."

Idrisar stared at him, narrowing his eyes.  “Yes, we will.  That was the deal, Saber.”

"That was the deal before I knew L’daris was coming," corrected the mafia lord.  "Now it’s changed.  _He_ can be there—” he nodded at Ammiteo, “—But not _you_ , Blackbird.”

The Mokalor specialist frowned and exchanged a confused look with his larger companion.  “Okay, I give up.  Why?”

"Hmm, how do I put this without pissing you off?"  Zevian mulled over it, still absently stroking Azurel’s hair.  He shrugged.  "Meh, it’s not going to happen.  The reason you can’t participate in this meeting, Idrisar, is because you’re a _lifebearer_.”

The agent’s eyes widened a little with understandable umbrage and he parted his lips to protest—but his pale-haired companion beat him to it. 

"Agent Blackbird is the most competent operative on my force…possibly one of the best our guild has to offer the world over."  Ammiteo’s handsome, chiseled features were stony.

"Ammiteo," warned Idrisar softly, while Zevian made a "cut" motion with his hand.

"But tell us how you _really_ feel,” suggested Zevian sarcastically to the director.  “And make sure you say it good and loud too, so the whole club can hear it.”

”’ _Agent_ ’?” Whispered Azurel, his ruby eyes widening a little.  He looked at his boss inquisitively.  “Zevian, what is going _on_?”

The guild lord looked at his entertainer impatiently.  “What was rule number one, Azurel?”

Azurel made a soft, growling sound in his throat that made Zevian’s eyebrows go up, but he didn’t contradict him.  “Stay out of your business.”

He smiled and pinched the lifebearer’s chin.  Seeing the frustration Azurel couldn’t quite hide, he sighed and leaned in to whisper a promise into his ear.  “I’ll explain it all later, okay?  Just play nice and do what you’re told for now, flower.”

Azurel seemed pacified by that and a subtle, charming blush coloring his bronze cheeks in response to the term of endearment.  “Okay.”

"Explain to me why my status as a lifebearer makes any difference in this meeting," demanded Idrisar in a low voice.  Youthful appearance or not, the look in his crystal-blue eyes warned against ignoring his questions.

"Because L’daris doesn’t do business with lifebearers," explained Zevian, "or women.  He thinks you’re all good for two things; sex and childbearing."

Idrisar’s jaw visibly clenched and his eyes flashed indignantly, but he otherwise kept his composure.  “I should have known.”

Zevian spread his hands.  “Hey, it’s _his_ philosophy, not mine.  I’ve got nothing but respect for you and any other lifebearers in your line of work.  L’daris is just old school…stuck in the past.  A lot of sires and men in my business are; it seems to come with the territory.”

"If that isn’t your attitude, why are you condoning it?" challenged Idrisar. 

"I’m not ‘condoning’ it," defended Zevian.  "I’m just telling you how it is with him.  It doesn’t matter how much I respect you, he’s not going to feel the same."

"If you have so much respect for lifebearers, why do you treat _him_ like a child?”  Idrisar gave a meaningful nod at Azurel—who seemed to appreciate the question and looked at Zevian with a curious smirk.

Zevian felt a headache coming on and he took his shades off and set them on the table to rub the bridge of his nose.  “I’m not the only one treating someone like a kid, Blackbird.  Do we really need to get into this?”

If the quick, covert sidelong glance Idrisar gave to his superior was any indication, he knew exactly what Zevian was talking about.  He sighed and took his glasses off as well, to wipe the lenses free of smudges.  “Pardon me,” he said graciously, “that wasn’t professional of me at all.  I won’t allow my personal feelings to interfere with this situation again.”

Zevian again had to admire Agent Blackbird’s sense of propriety.  Maybe that sophistication and unwavering dedication made him so attractive.  Not that Idrisar wasn’t a gorgeous lifebearer to begin with, but Azurel was a more accurate example of the type Zevian usually clicked with.

"We need to ensure Idrisar can participate in this meeting somehow," Ammiteo insisted.  "You demanded him because you know he’s the best, Mr. Saber.  It would be in your best interests to help us figure out a way to include him, even without the other guild lord’s knowledge."

"I suppose we could wire the VP lounge," suggested Idrisar softly.  He replaced his glasses on his face and he looked around at the interior of the club appraisingly.  "Surely the wiring in this place would allow a couple of taps, so I can listen in."

"No can do," vetoed Zevian with a shake of his head.  He rattled the ice around in his glass and a nearby waiter heard it and hastened to rectify the situation.  "L’daris always brings people with him that can detect both magical and electronic monitoring.  He doesn’t like his meetings to be recorded so unless you want to blow this completely, don’t try to set up any wires."

"Maybe we could disguise him as a sire," suggested Azurel.

Zevian almost thought the idea had merit, but one look at Idrisar’s features changed his mind.  “Too pretty,” he grunted.  An idea came to him and he thought he should test it.  “We could slap pointed ears and contacts on him but the bone structure would give it away…even if he _does_ act like a sire most of the time.”

Idrisar gave him a nasty look, though is face remained impassive.  “Please, keep the sexual bigotry flowing.  It’s really helping the situation.”

Zevian huffed a laugh, not entirely surprised by the lifebearer’s calm.  That was _one_ test out of the way.  “You’re a cool customer, Blackbird.  How much of that kind of talk do you think you can take?”

"I grew up in Nandar," answered the agent dismissively.  "I can take whatever you dish out."

"Hmm, good point."  Even now, it was no secret that Nandar still treated lifebearers like second-class citizens.  "I think there may be a way you can participate in this meeting…but not as an actual participant, if you get my meaning."

Idrisar looked politely ignorant.  “Enlighten me.  How do I ‘participate without being an active participant’, Saber?”

A shiver of apprehension raced up his spine and the guild lord actually _enjoyed_ it.  He wasn’t used to dealing with a lifebearer that was openly dangerous.  He’d seen his share of devious ones before, but they tended to demonstrate their aggression through underhanded means.  Agent Blackbird would simply kill you to your face.  He almost blurted out to Idrisar that he thought he was sexy as hell, but he reigned in his impulses and tried to keep it professional. 

"L’daris doesn’t have a problem with lifebearers being _present_ during meetings.  In fact, he prefers a little eye candy while he’s conducting business.  His issue is when they—or women—try to do business with him as if they were equals.  You can be in there when this goes down, but not as a player.  You’d have to go undercover as an entertainer…or as someone’s companion.  I’d recommend the latter, unless you want L’daris trying to demand _you_ as payment for his cooperation.”

Before he could even begin to suggest that Idrisar masquerade as his companion, the agent caught on and looked at Ammiteo.  “I’ll go as his companion.”  He gestured at the director.  “You can tell L’daris that Ammiteo is a visiting mafia lord and he’s got a stake in finding Sandman.”

Ammiteo gave the lifebearer agent an uncomfortable glance, but a look at Zevian seemed to quell any ideas he might have about arguing with the idea.  “I agree to the plan.”

Zevian felt unreasonable disappointment that he wouldn’t get the chance to pretend Idrisar was his for a little while.  He looked at Ammiteo.  “Visiting from _where_ , exactly?  Can you even speak a regional dialect of our language?”

In passable Rhuidian, the bigger sire answered him.  “When I must.”

Zevian shrugged, grudgingly accepting it.  “We’ll just say you’ve spent a lot of time in Avras doing business.  What about you, Blackbird?”  His gaze swept the lifebearer up and down and he grimaced inside.  Cute or not, Idrisar didn’t have the look of a lifebearer raised in any of the three lashran nations.

"I am his prize from Nandar," said Idrisar in perfectly flawless Nandarian dialect.  "And I know how to behave like it."

Hearing that musical accent flowing from Idrisar’s mouth with such effortless sensuality made Zevian’s pants start to feel tight.  Damn, but he loved that accent on a lifebearer.  As much as he hated those super conservative twits from Nandar, he had to admit they had the most alluring dialect of the lashran language and it really did take some tongue skills to roll the consonants the way Idrisar did.The way Ammiteo avoided looking at his Ulvari companion all the sudden hinted that he was likewise affected by it. 

"Can you teach _me_ how to talk like that?” Azurel inquired guilelessly, cutting into the enchanted mood.

Idrisar smiled at the younger lifebearer, gently amused.  “You want to learn to talk like a Nandarian?  Why?”

Azurel shrugged fluidly.  “It just sounds so…graceful?  And sires seem to really like it.  Part of my job here is entertaining them.  I think it would be a lot easier if I could speak the way you do when I use our language.”

Zevian thought the request was cute and he started to smile, but the brief glare he got from Idrisar made him spread his hands helplessly and wonder what he did to deserve that look.

Idrisar offered no explanation.  Instead, he looked at Azurel again.  “I think if I’m going to play this role, I might need a little dressing up.  My son Bowen in Nandar is always accusing me of becoming too ‘humanized’.  Do you think you could help me look more the part, before this guild lord comes?”

Azurel perked up like a kitten with a new catnip toy, and Zevian wondered if he should warn Idrisar what he’d just gotten himself into.  He decided after that un-provoked glare he’d received from the agent, he’d just leave him to his fate.  He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at Idrisar as Azurel got out of his seat, grabbed the agent by the right hand and urged him to get up and come away with him.

"Come to my room upstairs with me.  I can think of so many things I could do with your looks," offered Azurel sincerely as he started to drag an amused, puzzled Idrisar away with him.  "You have such gorgeous eyes and good bone structure.  Do you mind hair weaves?"

"I…can you _do_ that in two hours?”

"Of course!  We _could_ just give you a wig, but I think the wave would look better and you wouldn’t have to worry about it slipping.”  He stopped and faced the taller lifebearer with a frown.  “You aren’t allergic to any hair products or makeup, are you?”

Idrisar shook his head and to Zevian’s surprise, he looked more amused than annoyed.  “No.  I’m all yours.”

* * *

 

Ammiteo sat in uncomfortable silence with Zevian after the two lifebearers left them.  The music playing from the speaker system and the sounds of conversation were probably the only things keeping the cricket chirping at bay.  Zevian seemed likewise uncomfortable, but it was hard to tell with that man.  The mafia boss waved one of his serving people over—this time a young, good-looking human guy with brown hair and green eyes.  He ordered a couple of bourbons on the rocks and when Ammiteo started to remind him that he needed to keep a clear head, the older sire stopped him.

"A couple of doses before this starts will do us _both_ some good, Ammiteo,” warned Zevian seriously.  “I can almost guarantee you, after this meeting is finished you’ll want to drink like a fish.”

Ammiteo shook his head.  “I doubt it.  It takes a lot to make me want to drink.”

Zevian’s aqua gaze stayed level on him.  “From what I’ve seen, you don’t like to see your Blackbird insulted.  Am I wrong?”

Ammiteo stared at him and he thought of his reckless impulse earlier when the mafia lord stated that Idrisar couldn’t be in the meeting because he was a lifebearer.  He looked away, watching absently as a couple of well-dressed sires—Zevian’s men—walked by on their way to the bar. 

"What if I don’t?"

"You’re going to hear a _lot_ more of that, when L’daris comes,” promised Zevian.  The server returned with the requested drinks and he thanked him before sliding one of them across the table to the sire.  “Drink up, friend.  Dull it down before this asshole starts waving a red flag in front of your face.  You’re going to need all the cool you can muster.”

Ammiteo sighed and took the drink.  He clinked it against the mafia lord’s glass when Zevian raised his cordially for a toast.  “To getting things done,” he said.

"Good call," agreed Zevian.

They each took a swallow and grimaced before setting their drinks down.  Zevian again broke the silence first.  “He’s one hell of a lifebearer, your agent.”

Ammiteo smiled briefly and nodded in agreement.  “He is.”

* * *

 

Meanwhile upstairs, Idrisar winced as Azurel skillfully wove fake strands of hair into his natural tresses.  It had only taken moments for the entertainer to match up a color and he seemed to take great pleasure in making Idrisar up.  The agent endured it with typical stoicism, reminding himself that this was all part of the job and a means to an end.  He hadn’t really expected _this_ much attention to detail, when he’d asked for Azurel’s help. 

"So tell me," Idrisar said, squinting against the tug against his scalp, "How did you and Mr. Saber meet?"

Azurel parted more hair for the next weave and he glanced at the older lifebearer through the mirror before shrugging and putting the end of the comb into his mouth.  “Oaf…I twied tuh kiw himf.”

Idrisar frowned.  “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Azurel took the comb out and set it on the little table by the vanity.  “I said ‘I tried to kill him’.”

"Oh."  Idrisar’s dark brows furrowed in confusion.  "I’m sure I’m going to regret asking this and feel free to tell me it’s not my business, but…huh?"

Azurel chuckled and picked up another weave from the silver plate he’d laid them out on.  “It’s okay.  I said it like that just to get a reaction from you.  It was a lot milder than I expected, but I guess you know how to hide your feelings.”

"It’s part of my training," agreed Idrisar.  "So you were joking, about trying to kill Zevian?"

"Oh no," answered the younger man readily.  "I really _did_ try to kill him—or at least, I was _going_ to.  I lost my nerve.  He knew what I was going to do and he dared me to go through with it.  I chickened out.  I thought he might kill me after that, but instead, he took me in.  He freed me from my contract with L’daris and he gave me a job and a place to stay.”

"In exchange for _what_?”  Idrisar didn’t like jumping to conclusions, but if he found out that Zevian was taking advantage of this young man…

"That’s the strange thing," sighed Azurel.  He finished the weave and moved on to the next one.  "All he wanted in return was for me to pull my life together.  He said he wanted to know he’d made a difference."

Azurel paused and looked at Idrisar through the mirror, biting his lower lip.  “Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you all of this, since you’re an Ulvari.  I _knew_ that jewelry on your hand was more than ornamental, but I wasn’t sure until your companion said something.”

"It’s okay," soothed Idrisar.  "Unless you tell me that Mr. Saber’s been forcing you to do sexual favors or abusing you, everything you tell me is strictly confidential.  Your family isn’t under investigation.  I’m here on different business."

Azurel relaxed.  “It’s been a very long time since I’ve had another lifebearer to talk to.”  His fingers sifted through Idrisar’s hair skillfully, massaging his scalp as he applied the hair weaves to it.  “I hope you don’t mind.”

"I’m the one that asked you for details," reminded Idrisar dryly.  "I assume he treats you well?"

Azurel nodded enthusiastically and a lock of pale violet hair fell over his right eye.  He brushed it aside and gave Idrisar a wistful little smile through the mirror.  “Yes.  He would kill anyone that so much as breathed on me the wrong way.”

"Good."  Idrisar lowered his gaze, struggling with various feelings.  "I can’t pretend to know what life is really like here for a lifebearer.  As long as you go to his bed willingly—"

"What?" 

Idrisar looked up again.  “I’m sorry…did I overstep myself?”

Azurel grinned.  “You think he and I…you think I’m his _lover_?”

"Aren’t you?"

"Oh, I _wish_ ,” sighed the younger lifebearer.  “But no…it isn’t like that.  I’m too young for him.  He thinks I’m still ‘just a baby’.”

Idrisar was admittedly surprised.  He could have sworn he’d read something different in the mafia lord’s interactions with Azurel.  “But he seems so fond of you…so affectionate.”

Azurel shrugged.  “He is…but not sexually.  He treats me like his son or something.  I suppose I’m just happy with _any_ attention he gives me, but sometimes, I really wish I was more like you.”

"Me?  Why?"  Idrisar shut his eyes as the entertainer combed through the top of his hair and began to blend the weaves in with the natural growth. 

"You’re smart, you’re strong and you’re sophisticated," answered Azurel.  "Zevian’s talked about you before.  I didn’t really make the connection until your friend gave away that you were agents, but as soon as he said that, I knew you were the same ‘Idrisar’ he’d fought beside in Zarn.  You kept them from arresting him."

"Well, he saved my life," excused Idrisar.

"And you saved _his_ ,” insisted the other lifebearer.  “He said you were modest, but confident.  I didn’t really think that could be true, but now I see he was right.”  The ruby eyes caught and held Idrisar’s through the reflection in the mirror, and they were full of envy.  “Zevian really likes you.  I mean, in a way I don’t think he’ll ever like me.  He admires you and respects your opinion.”

Idrisar saw the truth in the younger man’s eyes so clearly, and he felt terribly sorry for him.  “I’m sure he respects your opinion, too.”

"No," disagreed Azurel with a sigh.  "Not the way he respects _yours_.  He isn’t trying to hide everything from you.  Hey, did you know your roots are starting to show?”  Azurel moved the spotlight hovering over them and peered at the crown of Idrisar’s head with interest.  “And what an interesting color!  It’s dark enough that I didn’t notice until now, but it’s such a gorgeous, deep red shade…with a hint of purple?  It’s like a maroon color.”

Azurel looked at him through the mirror again.  “But your eyebrows match your dyed color and if the roots are showing, that should have worn off by now.”

"I have bloodlines similar to yours," explained Idrisar.  "My hair darkens to black at the ends as it grows out, so my brows match.  I just prefer it in one uniform color."

"You like things nice and neat," guessed Azurel.  "Orderly."

Idrisar didn’t deny it.  “Whenever possible.”

The younger lifebearer grinned.  “So your brows match the tips the way mine do…but what about downstairs?  Mine does the same down there as it does on my head.”

"I think that’s common, for lashran with our hair type," answered Idrisar, trying to avoid getting into an overly intimate conversation.  "What else were you thinking of doing with me?"

"Hmm."  Azurel examined the color of the hair roots under the light.  "You’re known for having black hair at home, aren’t you?"

* * *

 

_Some time later, downstairs:_

"You’re too young for him.  You know that, don’t you?"

Ammiteo stopped in the process of taking a swallow of his second bourbon and he frowned at the sire sitting across from him.  “What are you talking about?”

"Your over-achieving agent," elaborated Zevian obligingly.  "He’s what…two-hundred, at least?  I’ll bet you haven’t even hit a century, yet."

The director held his calm.  “Even if it were any of your business and even if your assumptions had merit, a century isn’t such a long stretch of time between lashran partners.”

"True, after the first century or two," agreed Zevian with a shrug, "but in the beginning it’s another matter.  We require a longer time for personal growth than humans do.  It takes lashran a longer time to really find themselves in life.  Do you think you’ve done that, yet?"

Ammiteo faltered, remembering something similar that Idrisar had said to him, not long ago.  He forgot to deny his feelings as he answered the older sire.  “I’ve known what I wanted to do with my life since before I was old enough to enlist.  That hasn’t changed in all my years on Wyndrah.”

"But there’s always going to be a power discrepancy between the two of you," said Zevian.  "You’re his boss.  He has to answer to you.  You don’t think that could present a problem?"

"I think if it came to that, we could work it out," insisted Ammiteo.  "Idrisar is above letting that sort of thing bother him."

"You think so?" mused the guild lord.  "Because I’ve been under the impression that Blackbird left his home country _because_ he was sick and tired of always answering to someone else.  Presuming he’s able to see you as a man he wants to sleep with rather than a surrogate son he wants to nurture, you don’t think your power over him at work could put a little kink in the relationship?”

He’d never considered it that way before, but damned if it didn’t make sense.  Annoyed that he’d managed to give away his attraction to Agent Blackbird, Ammiteo cursed himself inwardly…and he cursed Zevian for noticing.  On the surface, however, he remained calm.  He gazed at the mafia boss levelly, as he knew Idrisar would have done. 

"Let’s just focus on getting through this meeting and doing what we came here to do.  This is an investigation, not a daytime drama."

"I’m just trying to help you out," said Zevian with a shrug.

"I don’t need your help." 

Ammiteo picked up his drink and he started to bring it to his lips, when he spotted Azurel coming down the stairs.  The exotic lifebearer was hard to miss, with his long, dual-colored hair and his silver and black outfit.  What really gave him pause was the man coming down with him.  He didn’t recognize him at all at first, because when the light fell on his dark hair, it shone with chestnut highlights and it was down to his shoulders, feathered around his face.  His ears weren’t pierced, so he had a pair of black cuffs hugging the attractive outer curves of his rounded ears.   

The outfit he wore was also completely out of character.  It was about as tight as his combat uniform but it wasn’t designed with the flexibility of the shiny latex.  Idrisar was decked out in full patent leather.  The body-hugging top he wore over his torso was open in a V shape from the neck down to the navel, exposing part of his chest and stomach.  The material was also cut out of the shoulders to expose them, but the leather covered his arms to the wrists from there.  A pair of matching pants covered his legs and a pair of thigh-high, seafarer-style boots finished the ensemble off.  He wore a spiked leather collar around his throat and a matching belt.  His pale blue eyes were outlined with kohl and his lips were glossy.

When full recognition finally hit him, Ammiteo’s jaw dropped.  It could have fallen straight to the floor and he wouldn’t have bothered picking it up, he was so shocked.  Seeing his gaping expression, Zevian frowned.  He was in the middle of taking a swallow of bourbon when the two lifebearers approached the table and he was just about to swallow as he turned around to see what the bigger sire was staring at.

"Well?  Can I have some applause?"  Azurel smiled brightly and gestured at his handiwork. 

Zevian took one look at Idrisar Blackbird and he immediately began to choke, swallowing his bourbon the wrong way.

* * *

 

-To be continued 


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

"If you say _one_ smart-ass comment, I will put you through that wall.” 

Zevian followed the direction of Idrisar’s nod with his eyes and somehow, he didn’t doubt the threat one bit.  He was still trying to catch his breath as he and Ammiteo stood up to greet the lifebearers and he noticed more than a few people eyeing Blackbird with more than passing interest. 

Ammiteo was apparently allowed to comment on the getup.  “Isn’t that a little…punk…for Nandarian fashion?”

"Actually, it’s all the rave over there right now," explained Azurel.  "Leather and spikes are in.  I think it looks hot.  Don’t you, Boss?"

Zevian couldn’t have given a verbal answer to that if he tried, but he nodded in agreement and out of sheer survival instinct, he tried to avoid leering at Idrisar.  It wasn’t _quite_ working and the exasperated glare he got from the agent was testament to that fact. 

"Funnily enough, Nandarian cultural conservatism doesn’t really extend to the fashion," explained Idrisar, his glare fading immediately as he looked at his director.  He smiled in a quietly bashful manner that made him look like a youngling.  "Do I really look that odd?  This isn’t so different from what I wear in the field.  Well, it doesn’t _move_ the same, but the look is similar.”

"Oh, it looks good on you," complimented Ammiteo hastily—and to Zevian’s eternal amusement, the big sire started to blush.  "It’s just…can you really _move_ the way you would need to in that outfit, if it came down to a fight?  Where are your glasses?”

"I left the glasses in Azurel’s bedroom," answered Idrisar, "and yes, I’m fairly sure I can still fight in this, if I have to.  I can’t see very far, but I can shut my eyes and use my ears.  If my pants split…oh well."

The visual made Zevian clear his throat to hide a snicker.  “Excuse me,” he said when Idrisar looked at him, his gorgeous face settling into an unfriendly expression again. 

"Azurel worked really hard on this," Idrisar informed him coolly.  "Aren’t you going to say something?"

He could finally reply without coughing.  “That depends on whether I’ll end up on the other side of the wall for it.”

Idrisar’s mouth twitched as if he were trying not to smile.  “Is it really that difficult to comment without saying something filthy, Mr. Saber?”

Getting the feeling that he was somehow being toyed with, Zevian buckled down and recollected his cool.  “You’re in skin-tight leather and spikes, Mr. Blackbird, and I’m a sire with all of his reproductive facilities fully intact.  I’m not sure what you expect me to say that won’t come out as ‘filthy’ to you, but what the hell.”  He turned to Azurel, who was biting his lip with apparent amusement.  He patted the lifebearer on the shoulders.  “Well done.  I’m sure every sire present at this meeting is going to be fantasizing about covering him in various flavored oils and licking them off of his body.”

"That wasn’t ‘non-filthy’," warned Azurel with a sound that was caught between a snicker and a giggle.  He looked at Idrisar.  "Please don’t kick him through a wall.  I don’t think he can really help it."

The agent gave Zevian a stern look, but his eyes were smiling subtly.  “I suppose I can let it pass, this time.”

"You’re too gracious," muttered Zevian with a smirk.  He eyed the length of Idrisar’s hair.  "Is that a wig?"

"Weaves," answered Azurel.  "And I dyed it.  That’s actually his natural hair color, boss.  I matched it up."

Ammiteo looked interested.  “Is it?  I had no idea.”

Idrisar shrugged.  ”It darkens at the tips when it grows out, like Azurel’s.  I’ve been dying it black for years because it’s easier than trying to match my base color all the time.”

Zevian was surprised too.  “I don’t know why you bother…that color looks good on you.” 

Ammiteo nodded in agreement.  “It’s so dark it’s nearly black as it is,” he observed.  “It goes good with your eyes.”

Idrisar lowered said eyes modestly.  “Thank you.”

Zevian blinked at him.  Ammiteo got a “thank you” for giving him a compliment, but whenever _he_ tried to give one, all he got was a hard time.  He compressed his lips with annoyance.  Vylden approached at that moment, his green cat-eyes sober behind his square shades.

"Boss, I just got a call from one of our people and Mr. Undir is about twenty minutes away.  Is there anything you want us to do in final preparation for his arrival?"

Zevian shook his head.  All of his people were well-schooled on what to do in the event of a shit fight, and he trusted them to minimize the damage to the establishment if it came down to such a thing.  “Just make sure the customers get out the door fast, if something goes down.  Keep the ladies and lifebearers safe, like always.”

Vylden gave a respectful nod.  “Absolutely, sir.  I’ll go make sure security is tight before I meet you upstairs.”  With that said, the white-haired sire walked away.

Overhearing, Ammiteo uttered a question.  “Wouldn’t it be smarter to close the venue until this meeting is over with, if there’s a chance your patrons could get caught up in something?”

"Anything that goes wrong is going to start in that VIP room," explained Zevian with a nod at the stairs, "and the second floor is restricted access.  The minute anything goes wrong, my people will get everyone out of here and lock the place up.  Not even L’daris would dare to come in here with guns blazing right away.  He’d have every guild, gang, scalawag and authority figure on these islands all over him the minute word got out that he opened fire on civilians."

Ammiteo’s brow furrowed with confusion and Idrisar offered a further explanation.  “The outer islands have their own code of laws, sir.  The government authorities on the central island generally stay out of the affairs of the guild lords, but whenever one of them oversteps himself, they’ve been known to intervene…or at least send people from foreign organizations like the Ulvari to deal with it.  As I understand it, they’ve been considering building an Ulvari-vash academy on the Chalice, but since they haven’t yet gotten around to it, they have to call them in from other locations when they require our assistance.”

Ammiteo smirked at the lifebearer and sighed softly.  “You know a hell of a lot more than I do, Blackbird.”

"Knowledge comes with experience," replied Idrisar softly, shrugging.  "You can’t be expected to know all of these things if you’ve had no reason to learn them, before now."

"Blackbird learned this information some time ago," agreed Zevian, taking some pity on the bigger sire.  "And the laws of these islands are pretty fucked up, compared to most other places in the world.  You can research it all later.  Right now, we need to get set up in the lounge for when our guests arrive."

He turned to Azurel.  “Go to your room now and lock yourself in there until I tell you it’s okay to come out.”

Azurel scowled.  “Really?”

Zevian sighed, seeing the amused looks on both Ulvari faces from the corner of his eye.  He pulled out his wallet and counted out some credits.  “Here then…go shopping.  Just don’t come back until you hear from me or one of the men, got it?”

Azurel’s eyes lit up as he accepted the money.  “This isn’t coming out of my pay, is it?”

The guild lord fought a smile.  “No, this one’s on me.  Get yourself something special for doing good work, kid.” 

He leaned in to give Azurel a kiss on the cheek, but the lifebearer turned his head and tilted it back so that his aim missed and he ended up kissing him on the mouth, instead.  Unprepared for the feel of the silken lips against his, Zevian almost forgot his vow never to start anything romantic with Azurel and he came close to slipping him a little tongue. 

He pulled away and gave the violet-haired lifebearer a suspicious look.  Seeing the mischievous twinkle in the ruby eyes, he sighed.  “Get out of here, cheeky.”

As he turned to obey, Idrisar offered the younger lifebearer a surprising compliment.  “Well played.”

"I thought so," agreed Azurel with a smirk over his shoulder at Idrisar.  "Good luck with L’daris."

Zevian stared at Idrisar after Azurel left, until the agent raised a dark brow inquisitively at him.  “Is something the matter, Mr. Saber?”

"I’m just trying to figure you out," muttered the guild lord.

* * *

 

"Boss, he’s coming," warned Adam, sticking his head into the VIP lounge. 

Zevian was standing at the mini bar and he poured a couple of glasses of chardonnay.  “Show him in as soon as he gets here, Adam.  Gentlemen, do you want anything to drink?”  He looked at the two Ulvari operatives sitting on the crimson-colored modular couch—which was arranged in a half-circle around the big glass coffee table in the center of the room.  

"Nothing for me," Idrisar said.

Zevian started to say something about that, but he noticed that the lifebearer was still wearing his Mokalor on his left hand and he cursed softly.  “Blackbird, you’re going to need to take that thing off and stash it somewhere.”

Idrisar’s gaze was steely.  “Over my dead body.”

"Nandar hosts Ulvari training for lifebearers," reminded Ammiteo, siding with his agent immediately.  "In fact, it originated there, I believe."

"That’s right," agreed Idrisar with a little smile that made Ammiteo’s heart pound.  "They wouldn’t allow lifebearers to go into direct, open combat, so they began training them as stealth agents when war with the humans became inevitable.  Sires trained as well, but the purpose in the beginning was to take advantage of lifebearers’ greater agility and lighter weight, so that they could defend their homes if an invasion occurred or assassinate war leaders, if necessary.  We were also personal guardians for members of the council."

"Cool," remarked Johnny.  "I never heard any of this stuff before."

"Try opening a book sometime," suggested Therril with a grunt as he moved a chase lounge closer to the modular couches.  "You’ll learn all kinds of shit, that way."

"He’d have to be able to read it," quipped Vylden with a smirk.

"Hey, I can read."

"All right, you clowns," remonstrated Zevian.  "Sober up.  I want you all on your toes for this.  Idrisar, I know they still train Ulvari in Nandar, but L’daris isn’t going to cooperate if he knows there’s an agent in this room, understand?"

"Who says I’m an agent?" Idrisar looked convincingly innocent.  "I’m merely a companion with a pretty piece of novelty replica jewelry on my hand, Mr. Saber."  He placed said hand over Ammiteo’s knee and laid his head on the sire’s shoulder, startling him.  His metal-sheathed fingers caressed the knee with lazy familiarity, like he’d been Ammiteo’s lover for some time.

Zevian compressed his lips, his eyes flashing with annoyance.

"Trust me," demanded Idrisar, keeping his eyes on the mafia lord.  "Just…trust me."

Zevian looked away and shrugged.  “If it were anybody else…ugh…fine.  Don’t make me regret it, beautiful.”

Meanwhile, Ammiteo really wasn’t sure what to do.  He sat stiff and uncertain on the couch, knowing he was supposed to be acting like Idrisar’s “keeper” but unwilling to disrespect him.  He almost jumped when the lifebearer’s breath caressed his ear as he spoke into it.

"I’m supposed to belong to you," reminded Idrisar softly.  "If we don’t make it look good, they’ll suspect something." 

"You won’t hold it against me?" He whispered, his great discipline the only thing allowing him to retain his wits enough to think.  

"We’re professionals," murmured the lifebearer.  "At the end of the day, we know who we really are."

Ammiteo wasn’t sure who the hell he was right _now_ , but it occurred to him that this was an opportunity he shouldn’t pass up.  It was all just fantasy, but he could get away with pretending the gorgeous agent was his for a little while.  He put an arm around Idrisar’s shoulders and drew him closer.    

The door opened and a group of five sharp-dressed lashran walked in, led by a sire with close-shaved golden hair, nearly black eyes and an intricate black tribal tattoo covering the right side of his face.  His expression was blank and the lobes of his ears were stretched un-naturally by gaping ear spools.  He was, for lack of a better word, creepy looking.  Ammiteo was reminded of a vampire when he looked at him, for some reason.  Maybe it was the ugly piercings distorting his earlobes, the lack of expression on his face, the black eyes, the tattoo or a combination of all of it, but he half expected the man to ask for a glass of blood.

"L’daris," Zevian called, crossing the room with two glasses of wine.  "Welcome."  He handed one over to the other guild lord and kept the second for himself. 

"Zevian," greeted L’daris in a scratchy voice.  He clinked his glass against his host’s.  "To your health."

They both took a drink, eyeing each other off like a pair of alley cats searching for an opening.  L’daris noticed Idrisar first and he gestured at the lifebearer, eyeing him with interest.  “House entertainment?”

Ammiteo’s arm tightened around his companion and he felt Idrisar’s hand squeeze his knee warningly.  “Don’t react with hostility,” he murmured into his ear.  “Let’s go and introduce ourselves.”  The soft, enticing lips kissed his ear before pulling away, drawing a subtle shiver from the sire. 

Ammiteo reluctantly removed his arm from around Idrisar and he stood up, crossing the room to greet the newcomer and the five men he’d brought with him.  Idrisar came with him and Zevian graciously introduced them, using the story they’d agreed upon. 

"L’daris, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine.  This is Ammiteo of Rhuidhim and his companion Idrisar."

L’daris shook hands with Ammiteo.  “Rhuidhim, eh?  How’s business up there?  You’re a long way from home.”

"I’ve been doing most of my business in Avras for years now," explained Ammiteo coolly, very aware of Idrisar’s proximity and scent.  The lifebearer put an arm around his waist and he was drawing patterns over his chest and stomach with the blunt tips of his finger sheaths.  It was proving…distracting.  "It’s been too good to pass up."

"Yes, I can tell you’re accent has been watered down," observed the guild lord.  His black eyes went to Idrisar.  "That’s a pretty toy you’ve got, there.  Where are you from, pretty one?"

"Nandar," answered Idrisar in a low purr, looking up at the guild lord demurely from beneath lowered lashes.  "Have you been, sir?" 

"Ahhh," said L’daris with a look around at his companions.  "Now _that_ place knows how to raise lifebearers, am I right, boys?”

There were chuckles and nods of agreement.

"Sadly, I’ve never been," continued the guild lord.  "If they have lifebearers like _you_ available there, I might have to change that soon.”  L’daris reached out to cup Idrisar’s chin roughly and Ammiteo tensed.  Idrisar poked him in the back, again warning him to play it cool.  The director saw Zevian’s eyes flash to the left and he wondered if the guild lord might be the one to lose his cool, soon. 

"Look at those lips," L’daris said in approval.  He released Idrisar and looked up at Ammiteo.  "Does he give good blowjobs or are those lips just ornamental?"

Ammiteo nodded, somehow keeping the gesture from being stiff.  “The best.”

L’daris’ gaze went to the hand that was toying with Ammiteo’s shirt and he frowned.  “Is that what I think it is?”

Idrisar stopped tracing patterns on Ammiteo’s chest to hold his hand out to the tattooed guild lord, much to Ammiteo’s concern.  “It is a replica of jewelry lifebearers used to wear in the old world.  Pretty, isn’t it?”  His voice dripped honey and promises…a treat to the senses.

L’daris took the hand offered to him and he brushed a thumb over the smooth, oval stone of lapis lazuli set in the center of the top part of the Mokalor.  He smirked.  “Not as pretty as its owner.”  He turned Idrisar’s hand over and kissed the palm, before releasing his hand.  He seemed to find it amusing that the lifebearer was allegedly ignorant of the truth behind the object.  “I don’t suppose you share him, Mr. Ammiteo?”

Ammiteo shook his head, but he tempered his response and tried to keep it light, thinking quickly.  “I’ve chosen him to give me children.  I’m sure you understand why I keep him to myself and won’t allow him out of my sight.”

The guild lord nodded in understanding, his eyes sweeping over Idrisar with coveting admiration.  “A shame, but completely reasonable.  No man wants the father of his sons mingling with other men.”

Ammiteo found the man’s entire attitude loathsome, and he understood now why Zevian insisted they have a few drinks to loosen up first.  He was unconsciously starting to position Idrisar behind him, attempting to shield the smaller man with his body.  Zevian must have noticed it and the guild lord quickly spoke up before his rival could take notice, too.

"Why don’t we have a seat and get down to business, gentlemen?  Take a load off.  Adam, bring these guys something to wet their lips, will you?"

"Sure thing, boss." 

The human began to ask L’daris’ men what sort of drink they’d prefer and Ammiteo noticed the way two of said men turned down refreshment and looked around with observant eyes.  Zevian was right, wiring the room would have been a bad idea.  Ammiteo led his companion back to the couch and sat down with him.  Zevian sat next to the director with Therril, and before they could get comfortable, L’daris asked further questions of the “couple”.

"So what brings you to our islands, Mr. Ammiteo?  Zevian hasn’t bothered to tell me and I’m interested to know what part you have in this meeting."

"I was told I might find some information on a man named Tsyther here, so I came to Zevian for assistance," answered Ammiteo before Saber could speak up for him. 

"So _you’re_ the one after Tsyther.”  L’daris looked at Zevian with a twisted smirk.  “And this one told you he’s still alive?”

"He’s killed a couple of my men," answered Ammiteo, reciting the story he and Zevian came up with while Idrisar was getting his makeover.  The lifebearer snuggled against him and he stroked his hair as if he were a domestic cat, doing his best to make it look like he "owned" him.

L’daris’ fathomless gaze stayed on him.  “You do know that officially, he vanished years ago.  When was it, Zevian?  Help me out.  I think it was around the time you killed my old man and his people in the gambling den.”

"You mean after he had my spouse shot down in the street?" countered Zevian with a feral smile and flashing eyes.  "How quickly we forget the chain of events."

"You stole from him," said L’daris with a scowl, standing up.

"That was an unfounded accusation and even _if_ it were true, it was no excuse to go after an innocent.”  Zevian also stood up and the two of them glared daggers at each other.

Ammiteo felt the tension building in the air between the two guild lords and he glanced sidelong at his lifebearer companion, fearing this was going to get ugly after all.  Idrisar ran his sheathed fingertips over the director’s chest in a silent reminder that he was prepared for whatever happened.

"They were after _you_ ,” insisted L’daris, “but your pretty mate got in the way.”

"Then they should have held their fucking fire," growled Zevian.

L’daris scowled at him and the men behind both guild lords stood tensely, ready for action at the slightest sign from their bosses.  For a moment, it looked as though a fight might erupt, but the Voldus guild lord abruptly shrugged and spread his hands. 

"How many times are we going to relive these events, Zevian?  I came to do business with you today.  You said you wanted any information I can give you on Tsyther, and I’m prepared to do that…for a fee.  Are we going to cut a deal, or not?"

With obvious effort, Zevian took his hands away from the pistols strapped to his thighs and he sat down again, reaching for his glass of wine and downing it in one go.  He held his empty glass up demandingly and Therril quickly retrieved the bottle from the mini bar and refilled it.

"Then let’s talk business," said Zevian tiredly.

Ammiteo was now beginning to understand the sympathy his agent had for this man.  How exhausting it must be, to deal with the family that took away his beloved and have this kind of argument each time they had to do business with each other.

"Ask them how Sandman disappeared," whispered Idrisar into his ear, distracting him from thoughts of pity. 

Ammiteo thought that was a wise idea.  “How did Tsyther disappear and when did it happen?  What were the circumstances around it?”

Zevian looked at the other guild lord with raised eyebrows.  “Should I tell him, or would you like to?”

"Happy to," answered L’daris cordially.  He held his glass out to be topped up when Therril offered.  "Tsyther did a lot of damage before he vanished.  He killed a lot of my sire’s people and stole millions of credits worth of recovered artifacts for his boy, there."  He gestured at Zevian, who had reclined against the lounge cushions and had his arms resting over the back of the seat, on either side.

Ammiteo and Idrisar both looked at their “ally”, not missing the significance of that final sentence.  “His ‘boy’?” repeated Ammiteo, thinking of how he and Idrisar had discussed the possibility of Zevian being related to Sandman by blood.

"What, your buddy didn’t tell you? His dear old Dad is the one you’re looking for."

Zevian met the agents’ gazes levelly.  “Now you know.  Don’t get excited, though.  Our parent/child dynamic was about as fucked up as anyone’s could ever be.”

Ammiteo couldn’t for the life of him imagine why Zevian allowed them to discover this fact this way.  He _had_ to have known his rival would bring it up, just to see if he’d informed them.  Was this some kind of test for him and Idrisar, or was it a different sort, meant for L’daris?  Unfortunately, he couldn’t ask his companion for his opinion and he could only guess what thoughts were churning behind Idrisar’s mysterious, crystal-blue eyes.

"You still want to do business with this man?" L’daris prompted, evidently seeing an opportunity.  "Or would you rather cut out the middle man and make a deal with me directly?"

"That wasn’t our agreement," said Zevian.

L’daris smiled smugly.  “You want to find your old man, is that it?  Mr. Ammiteo, you can’t trust this man to lead you to answers.  He’s got his own reasons for seeking out Tsyther.  If you want someone to be straight with you, dump Mr. Saber and work directly with me.”

"So then you _do_ have information on him that you haven’t shared with me,” guessed Zevian with satisfaction. 

The other guild lord shrugged.  “Maybe I’ve just got better connections.  I’m not saying more about that until someone makes an offer.  I don’t care who it comes from, but just so Mr. Ammiteo knows, I’d probably accept a lower payout from him than you.”

"First, I want someone to answer my earlier question," insisted Ammiteo.  "All you’ve really given me is a story about him stealing from your guild, Mr. Undir.  When did he disappear and why?"

"It happened after he made off with the aforementioned artifacts," explained Zevian, his eyes far away as he thought back.  "I got the blame for it, of course."

"Because you were in on it," insisted L’daris.

"Will you let me finish my story?" Zevian said impatiently.  When the other guild lord shrugged, he turned to Ammiteo and Idrisar.  "As I was saying; Tsyther took the artifacts from the Undir family, for reasons I won’t go into right now because it will only spark another argument and we’ll get nowhere.  He claimed he was going to show me where he’d put them, but in return, he wanted me to get rid of Obane Undir."

"Why?" asked Ammiteo, guessing that Idrisar would want to know the same thing. 

"To start a guild war, probably."  Zevian shrugged.  "I’m beginning to think everything he did was just a set-up to force me to rise to power.  He was a perfectionist, my old man.  He wanted the best out of everyone—me included.  That meant I had to be on top of the other guild lords and when I didn’t agree to assassinate Mr. Undir, he pulled some strings to force my hand."

"Bullshit," denied L’daris.  "You’re making excuses."

"You can keep saying that," Zevian countered, "but it doesn’t make it true."  He regarded Ammiteo again.  "Now as for how Tsyther—your ‘Sandman’—disappeared, another spirit singer tracked him down to here and took him out.  The explosion could be seen for miles.  Funny story though: our friend L’daris over there happened to be nearby when it happened.  I think he and my sire were working out a business arrangement when this other spirit singer showed up to hand him the business end of a supernova—or a reasonable imitation of one, at least. It seemed impossible that _anyone_ could have survived an explosion like that, and Tsyther was reported to have been right in the middle of it.  Mr. Undir here was at the very edge of it, apparently, and as you can see by those tattoos not _quite_ hiding his disfigurement, even a week in a healing trance couldn’t erase the damage his face copped.”

L’daris didn’t deny being within proximity when the event occurred.  He rubbed the tattoo covering half his face in a self-conscious manner and Ammiteo noticed for the first time that there was some scarring, well hidden by the ink.  “I was trying to take him down,” said the Voldus guild lord.   

"Right," snorted Zevian.  "Your family had something going on with him behind my back.  I still don’t know _what_ , but I’ll figure it out eventually.”

"You found a body?" persisted Ammiteo. 

"We found several," answered Zevian with a look at L’daris and his men.  "The Chalice authorities came to help clean up the mess, take care of the injured and identify the bodies for records.  Most of them were L’daris’ people and some were civilians unfortunate enough to be caught up in the blast and the resulting shockwaves that knocked over buildings and power lines.  One of the bodies was later identified as Tsyther’s.  I had my doubts, but the DNA match was _supposedly_ conclusive.”

Ammiteo glanced at L’daris, who kept his dark gaze on Zevian.  There was a hint of something under the surface of his expression that he couldn’t quite place.  He got the feeling the man definitely knew more than he was letting on and Zevian obviously suspected the same thing.

"When did he start calling himself ‘Sandman’?" Ammiteo asked, guessing he had to have used it prior to his disappearance, for Zevian to have come under the suspicion that the contract killer and his sire were the same person. 

   “He went by that alias when he was training under the Ulvari,” answered Zevian.  “He stopped using it after earning his badge.  He got the nickname from putting people he didn’t like to sleep on the field and getting them into trouble with the instructors.  We’re talking ages ago, though.  He was training with the Ulvari before he ever went to the Spirit Keepers, and I think he only went to them because he was starting to go unhinged.”

It was common knowledge that without proper training on how to manage them, the spirit voices heard by those who could “sing” had a tendency to drive the host to madness.  Ammiteo frowned, glancing at his companion.  He could see by the look in Idrisar’s eyes that his thoughts were on the same track.  Madness from going too long without proper training could very well have played a large part in turning Sandman into the sociopath he was today.

"Are we done reminiscing?" L’daris asked impatiently, checking his watch.  One of his men—a sire with shoulder-length, straight red hair—murmured something into his ear and the guild lord smirked.  "I’ve been informed that every one of you is cloaked.  What’s the matter, Saber?  Don’t you trust me?"

Zevian smirked back.  “Have I ever?  I knew you’d bring either a spirit singer or a sorcerer or both to this meeting.  Did you think I would leave my allies vulnerable to your invasive peeping?”

"So predictable," sighed L’daris, "but then, I expected as much.  I would like to get home before tomorrow, Zevian.  I’ve got a couple of hot fucks waiting for me."  He winked at Idrisar.  "Maybe not as hot as Mr. Ammiteo’s toy, but I can always picture him while I’m putting it to them.  Ahh, don’t look so upset, Mr. Ammiteo.  It was a compliment."

Idrisar put an uncomfortable amount of pressure against Ammiteo’s kidney from behind, warning him to keep his calm again as the guild lord’s unexpected announcement provoked a reaction from him.  The big sire took a slow breath and let it out, before speaking.  “Then we should get down to business.  Do you have information on this man or not, Mr. Undir?”

The black eyes went to Zevian.  “That depends.  You have a choice, gentlemen.  I’ll accept one of two different forms of payment, in exchange for information that will lead you to tracking your target.  It’s up to you to decide who pays, but if you both decline, I walk out of here and you get nothing from me.”

Zevian exchanged a look with Ammiteo.  “Name your price, L’daris.”

The other boss got up and made a gesture at his again-empty wine glass, and Zevian himself got up to retrieve a fresh bottle from the mini-bar.  He returned to L’daris and he refilled both their glasses, before handing the bottle to Adam.  The human took it from him and waited with everyone else while the two guild lords eyed each other off and drank from their glasses.

"Here’s my first proposal," said L’daris after savoring the wine in his mouth and swallowing.  "About three years ago, you bought something from me and I’ve always regretted making that sale.  I’d like it back.  Sign over Azurel’s contract to me and you don’t have to pay a single copper."

Zevian shook his head immediately.  “Sorry, he’s not mine to barter anymore.  I released him from his contract when I purchased it from you.  He’s a free lifebearer now and he’s a son of this family…which means he’s under our protection.”

L’daris snorted derisively.  “You’ve always had such a weakness for a pretty face, Zevian.”

"That’s obviously your interpretation of reality, since you sent him to try and kill me," replied Zevian.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," answered L’daris aloofly. 

"Have it your way."  Zevian took another swallow of wine.  "It doesn’t matter now.  I couldn’t give you back his contract if I wanted to."

Ammiteo had to admire how well that was handled, even as he felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when the rival guild lord’s black eyes looked to Idrisar.

"I’m disappointed in you, Zevian.  You let a perfectly good whore go to waste.  Ah well, the situation can still be salvaged.  Unless Mr. Ammiteo is willing to let me take his pretty treat into one of the rooms for a private session—"

"Absolutely not," Ammiteo said sternly, his expression hardening.  Beside him, Idrisar’s sculpted face was impassive and unreadable.

"—I thought so.  Since that’s out of the question, I have an alternative.  There’s something about your sexy, blue-eyed breeder that tickles my senses.  I can’t put my finger on it, but I think Matroth here could…if Zevian were to drop the spirit shield blocking him.  You let my spirit singer get a glimpse inside of that pretty head and pay me ten-thousand credits, and I’ll tell you what I know."

Zevian glanced at Idrisar and for a bare moment, Ammiteo caught a glimpse of protective frustration in his eyes.  “Just what the hell do you hope to gain by doing this, L’daris?  He’s just a companion.”

"So you say."  The guild lord’s eyes went to the Mokalor on Idrisar’s hand.  "Do you know the ‘jewelry’ that gauntlet is supposed to be replicated from is endowed with a hidden trigger?  Each peace is custom made for its owner, and only the owner is shown where the activation trigger is located.  To the ignorant, it can easily pass as a fancy piece of jewelry.  That’s what makes the Mokalor so dangerous and effective."

Idrisar looked at the item covering his hand and he pulled a very convincing face of confusion.  “I wasn’t told any of this when I purchased it,” he said softly in the Nandarian dialect.  He looked at Ammiteo and smiled softly.  “My keeper told me to choose whatever I liked from the market stall, and I chose this.  How interesting.”

L’daris _almost_ looked as though he might change his mind, because the lifebearer’s performance was so convincing.  Idrisar really behaved like an uneducated, simple creature whose only real desire in life was to please his “keeper”.  The guild lord compressed his lips grimly after a moment of studying Idrisar and he looked between Ammiteo and Zevian. 

"Well, gentlemen?  That’s my final offer.  Will you accept it or not?"

"Take twenty-thousand and leave the lifebearer alone," offered Zevian.  "The poor kid has no idea what you’re talking about and he’s done nothing to deserve having his mind and spirit violated."

"What part of ‘my final offer’ didn’t you understand, Saber?  How about it?  Just a few minutes of poking around to satisfy me and a discounted fee, and we’ll have a deal.  I’ll even have Matroth go easy on him and he’ll get over it within a day."

Ammiteo shook his head.  ”No deal.”

"Wait," said Idrisar when L’daris shrugged and started to turn around.  He looked at Ammiteo, who stared at him with open concern.  "I will agree to it.  You need this information."

"Idrisar," Ammiteo began, but the lifebearer shushed him by pressing two fingertips of his unadorned hand to his lips, his pale blue eyes staring into his.

"I’ll be fine," Idrisar murmured, still speaking Nandarian.  He stroked the director’s spiked, pale hair.  "Please, trust in me."

Ammiteo hesitated, unable to take his eyes off him.  He slowly nodded, though every fiber of his being was screaming at him to put a stop to this and find a different way to track down Sandman. Idrisar pulled away from him and gave him an encouraging, confident little smile before standing up to face Zevian.

"Mr. Saber, I’m ready."

* * *

 

_~”Fuck.  How did it come to this?  Do I have a fucking sign on my head that says I’ve got a thing for Blackbird?  How did that bastard figure it out?  He’s only doing this to get at me, I’m sure of it.”~_

Either way, the only choice now was to go through with it or back out and lose the chance to get the information they needed.  Even if they did things L’daris’ way, there was no guarantee he’d give over authentic information.  Zevian was sure the man had something to do with his sire’s “death”, though.  Tsyther obviously survived that explosion and L’daris wasn’t too fussed about pretending he didn’t know about it.

 Unable to bear what this could do to Idrisar if Matroth decided to get too aggressive, Zevian tried something he’d never tried before.  He looked into the lifebearer’s eyes as Idrisar approached him and he concentrated with all his might, trying to project his thoughts into the agent’s mind, the way those gifted with spirit singing were able to do.   

_~”Idrisar, listen up.  Come on, baby…tell me you hear me.  Can you hear me?  Idrisar, blink or something if you can—”~_

Idrisar blinked, his mouth parting with subtle surprise. 

To be sure it wasn’t just coincidence, Zevian did it again.  _~”Was that a reflex, or a response?  Blink twice for ‘yes’.”~_

Idrisar blinked twice, tilting his head to one side.  His dark chestnut bangs fell over his left eye as he stopped before Zevian and looked up at him.  He’d done it.  He’d _really_ done it.  Zevian had pulled off a few tricks in his lifetime that he technically shouldn’t have been able to do without the benefit of channeling the spirits, but he never thought he’d accomplish this.  It just went to show what a man could really do when he got desperate enough.  He decided to get his message across while he could, before their audience began to wonder what the holdup was.

_~”This is going to be hard on you, gorgeous.  L’daris might claim he’ll have his man go easy on you, but he gets off on putting lifebearers in their place and he loves to see me hurt.  I guess I came off too protective or something and now he wants to make me wriggle.  If this guy breaks you, he’s going to know you’re an agent and this is going to go down the shitter fast.  You say the word and we’ll call this off and find another way to track down Tsyther, okay?”~_

Idrisar shook his head subtly, his determined gaze never wavering.

_~”Gods damn it…you’re either too stubborn or too brave for your own good…”~_

Zevian cupped the lifebearer’s face in his hands and sighed, speaking aloud, this time.  “You’re sure about this?”

The tiniest little smile curved Idrisar’s glossy lips and he briefly reached up with his unadorned hand and laid it over one of Zevian’s.  The mirror of his eyes cracked just enough to allow Zevian to see the gratitude in them.  “Yes.”

He almost would have preferred it if Idrisar had gotten cross with him and said something snarky, or given him one of those exasperated glares.  This gentle kindness from him was almost too much.  Zevian shot one more glare at L’daris before he began to unravel the protective net he’d woven over Idrisar’s spirit.

* * *

 

Ammiteo watched with Zevian as L’daris’ spirit singer approached the lifebearer reclined on the couch.  The director looked sidelong at the mafia lord, hoping he was ready to start shooting the moment anything was amiss.  Zevian glanced back and he dropped his arms to the sides, leaving his hands relaxed but close to the handles of his guns.  His men stood silently nearby and watched, equally tense.  L’daris and his underlings likewise appeared to be bracing for a confrontation.

"Just relax," advised Matroth as he knelt before the couch and hovered his hands over Idrisar’s prone body.  "This only has to hurt as much as you let it, little one."

Ammiteo winced inwardly at the patronizing word usage and he could imagine how debasing this entire thing must be for the proud operative.  The spirit singer must have begun, because Idrisar made a soft sound of discomfort and shut his eyes.  A glance over at L’daris revealed that the man was already taking a sick sort of delight in this, his black gaze sliding between Idrisar and Zevian.  He didn’t seem to care whether it bothered Ammiteo or not.

Idrisar began to pant after a few moments, squirming fitfully on the couch as the red-headed sire’s insidious powers infiltrated him, seeking out his thoughts and feelings.  His face began to glisten with perspiration and he moaned, his hands clenching into fists.  Ammiteo clenched his jaw and Zevian reached for a bottle of bourbon and poured himself a shot.  Despite his bravery and stoicism, Idrisar began to cry out in pain and clutch at his head after several torturous moments.

Zevian broke before Ammiteo or Idrisar did.  “That’s _enough_ , L’daris!”

"I’ll say when it’s enough," snapped the other guild lord coldly. 

Zevian started to reach for his weapons, but Matroth backed off at that moment and stood up, leaving Idrisar shivering and gasping for breath.  “It’s done, boss.  I’ve seen all I need to see.”  He smirked down at the lifebearer, shook his head and crossed the room to L’daris.  The Voldus guild lord kept his eyes on Zevian as his spirit singer reported his findings in a low whisper.  His gaze slid to the exhausted recipient of the spiritual interrogation and he chuckled. 

"Aren’t _you_ a horny little slut.” He looked at Ammiteo.  “Kudos.  You’ve got yourself a real firecracker there, Mr. Ammiteo.  I can’t say I don’t envy you.”  He looked at Zevian next and he scowled.  “But watch out for _this_ one.  He’ll steal that whore right out from under you if you give him the chance.  He’s a glutton for the pretty ones.”

Ammiteo hurried to Idrisar’s side and helped him sit up, cradling him close and stroking his sweat-dampened hair.  “What about the deal, L’daris?”  He noticed an unusual scent clinging to his agent, but he was too preoccupied to worry about such a trivial thing.

"As soon as Saber gets my money in order, I’ll tell you what I know and I’ll even arrange a meeting for you with someone that’s been in touch with your target regularly."

Zevian watched Idrisar for a few moments before giving a nod to Vylden.  “Make the transfer to whatever account number Mr. Undir gives you.”

* * *

 

A few minutes later, L’daris checked his accounts with his phone and nodded in satisfaction.  He had a seat on the couch across from the one Idrisar and Ammiteo were on and he motioned Zevian over to join him. 

"Here’s what I can tell you:  I was there at that warehouse that day with your old man because mine told me to go and investigate the place.  He got word that Tsyther was spotted alone there and he wanted him brought in.  I took some of my people to do that, but he cut them all down like wheat.  He probably would have killed me too, but that other spirit singer showed up and challenged him.  When they started flinging the elements at each other like monkeys fling shit at the zoo, I knew things weren’t going to end well for anyone, so I hauled ass out of there.  I wasn’t _quite_ fast enough.”  He touched his face again for emphasis.

"Who staged his death?" demanded Zevian.  "Was it you, or was it your old man?"

"Sire arranged it," answered L’daris.  "He was determined to get those artifacts back and he got a call from Tsyther while I was in the med ward.  He said if my sire could have the evidence tampered with to make it look like one of the unidentified bodies was his, he’d tell him where the artifacts were."

Zevian’s expression went stony.  “So he told him I had them.”

"Don’t patronize me," snarled L’daris.  "He sold you out, Saber—his own son.  He cared more about making a clean break before the Spirit Keepers came down on him than he cared about you.  The rest, as they say, is history."

Zevian’s eyes glowed.  “My mate…Urahis…he died because of this.”

"He died because of your refusal to come clean," answered L’daris.  "Now we’ve both lost someone and your sire’s still at large.  I’m guessing you’d like to repay him, am I right?  Well, I’d like to see him get his too.  Who knows, maybe you’ll kill each other and I can just call it a day."

"You said you know someone who’s been in touch with him regularly," prompted Ammiteo from the couch.  Idrisar’s eyes were closed and he was resting in the big man’s arms.  "Who is it?"

"I don’t have a name," answered L’daris, "because he hasn’t given me one.  I’ll make an arrangement with my contact to meet up with you to discuss it—but he may require payment for his cooperation."

Zevian sighed.  “Of _course_ he will.  Why do I feel like you’re blowing smoke up my ass?”

L’daris smirked at him.  “Maybe I am.  I just _love_ to fuck with you, Saber.  However, this time I really do think I have more to gain by helping you out…just this once.  I’ll get in touch with you sometime tomorrow, after I’ve made arrangements with the contact.  Take it or leave it.  You’ve already paid and I’ve got nothing else for you.”

Zevian had no other alternative, and they both knew it.  “Fine.”  He nodded at his men.  “Gentlemen, escort our friends out, now.”

* * *

 

"Unh," protested Idrisar dazedly as he was gently shaken awake.  He opened bleary eyes and looked up at the two handsome faces hovering over him.  "I’m okay.  Are they gone?"

"They’re gone," assured Ammiteo.  "There’s no need to keep up an act."

Idrisar’s body felt like led as he tried to sit up again, and Zevian pushed him back down firmly.  He glared up at the mafia lord.  “What do you think you’re doing?”

"You tried to sit up a minute ago and you passed right out," Zevian explained.  "Just lay back and rest for a while, Idrisar."

Ammiteo’s strong, masculine features were softened with guilt and worry.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t prevent that, Agent.  You never should have had to—”

"Don’t," demanded the lifebearer tiredly.  " _I_ made the choice.  _Me_.  Not either of you.  I could have stayed silent or changed my mind and let Mr. Undir walk out of here without sharing any of that information, but I came here to do a job.  Don’t treat me like a victim.”

If he weren’t feeling so violated and sick to his stomach, he might have gleaned some amusement from the boyishly contrite looks on their faces.  As it was, all Idrisar really wanted was barf pan and a warm shower—in that order. 

"I’m going to be sick," he warned as his stomach rolled ominously. 

Zevian cast a hasty look around and he grabbed the ornamental bowl off the coffee table as Idrisar rolled onto his side.  He held it under his face as the lifebearer started to heave, while Ammiteo rubbed Idrisar’s back and shoulders soothingly.  As he emptied his stomach into the bowl, the two sires had an odd discussion.

"Are you going to ask him, or what?" Zevian said.

Ammiteo sounded annoyed.  “He’s vomiting right now, in case you haven’t noticed.”

"I meant when he’s finished puking," corrected the mafia lord.

"I’m not going to ask him.  _You_ ask him.  You’re the one that noticed it first.”

"Bullshit," argued Zevian, "I saw you sniffing his hair when I was finishing my conversation with L’daris.  You noticed it too."

"His body functions aren’t any of my business… _or_ yours.”

"They are if they’re going to jeopardize his concentration on this case," insisted Zevian.  "I think his safety is a _little_ more important than his dignity, Director.”

Idrisar finished heaving and he wiped his mouth with the tissue offered to him by Ammiteo.  “I feel like…I’m listening to a pair of kids…arguing.  What is it you two want to ask me?”

The sires looked at each other and then at him.  Zevian sniffed the air in his direction and being the more verbally bold of the two, he answered first.  “Are you in heat, Blackbird?”

He’d almost forgotten about his little trick.  “No,” he answered, shaking his head.  “It’s a false condition.”

"What the hell does _that_ mean?” demanded Zevian.

"Can’t this wait?" Idrisar asked, glaring at him.

"Hey, I’m squatting here holding a bowl of your puke," reminded the gangster.  "I think you can spare a minute to give us an explanation."

"Will you please at _least_ get that away from me, first?”  Idrisar glanced at the contents of the expensive bowl and grimaced.  “Unless you want an encore.”

"Good call."  Zevian got up and carried the bowl to the sink to dump the contents and rinse it out.  "Now tell us what’s going on, Agent Blackbird.  What did you do to throw that spirit singer off the scent, why did L’daris call you a ‘horny slut’ and why do you smell like you’re in your seasonals now?"

Idrisar sighed.  “I know how to trick my body into a false state of seasonals—just enough to produce the pheromones that come with it and give off the scent you sires are so crazy about.  The idea came to me because of Ammiteo’s story about choosing me to bear his children.  I thought it was logical that he would have been priming me for fertility and when I realized what I was going to have to do to get L’daris to cooperate, I made my body go into false heat for credibility.”

"I don’t get it," admitted Zevian with a frown, returning to sit at the couch across from Idrisar’s. 

"I’m afraid I don’t either," agreed Ammiteo. 

"L’daris thinks all lifebearers and women are nothing more than whores and incubators," reminded Idrisar.  "His behavior proved that Mr. Saber wasn’t lying about that.  So, when it came time for me to subject myself to his spirit singer’s scrutiny, I gave the bastard _exactly_ what he asked for.  He saw an ignorant slut when he looked at me and even though he suspected I might be something more, it was easy for him to accept that he was right and not question the results of the scan.”

"So you tricked the spirit scan?" Zevian said, his brows furrowing with amazement.  "How, exactly?"

"I thought of sex," answered Idrisar.  "And nothing else.  The sire that examined me saw nothing but pornography when he looked into my thoughts.  The scent of my pheromones plus Ammiteo’s story gave him no reason to believe I was anything more than an oversexed companion."

"I’ve heard of people beating spirit scans before," Ammiteo said with admiration, "but I’ve never actually met anyone that could."

"I don’t think I could do it again," admitted Idrisar with a sigh.  "I think I only managed it because I knew it was coming and I was so determined to make this arrangement happen.  I really want a shower and a bed, right now…but first, I want to ask Mr. Saber why his sire would be helping his rival."

Zevian shrugged.  “I told you, he’s a perfectionist.  He thinks conflicts and struggles make people stronger and in his mind, he probably did me a favor.  The man I knew probably thought he could push a guild war on me that would either kill me or send me straight to the top…and I doubt he would have been too broken up if the former had happened.  He’s batshit crazy and to tell you the truth, part of me was hoping I was wrong about him being your Sandman.”

"Fair enough," sighed Idrisar, beyond the point of exhaustion.  "About that shower, now…" He tried to get up again and he started to fall off the couch. 

Ammiteo caught him and eased him back down onto the cushion.  “You need rest more than you need bathing,” he said sternly.  “It’s all in your head, Idrisar.”

"In my head," sighed the lifebearer, his eyes drifting shut.

"Put him in my room for now," he heard Zevian offer.  "He can have my bed until he’s recovered enough to move."

The world went black around the edges and as he started to fall asleep again, Idrisar thought he heard that disturbing, gravely voice of the Sandman speaking into his ear.

"Hello, kitten."

* * *

 

-To be continued


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

Idrisar awoke to the feel of someone pressing a cool, damp cloth to his face.  He groaned softly as he opened his eyes, immediately trying to identify his surroundings.  The room was dim and it took a moment for his vision to focus enough to recognize the person hovering over him. 

"Azurel?"

The younger lifebearer smiled down at him.  “Welcome back to the world of the living, Mr. Blackbird.  How do you feel?”

Idrisar thought of the nightmares he’d had and he grimaced.  “I’ve seen better days, but I’ll live.  What time is it?”

"You slept through the night.  It’s a little past nine in the morning, now."  He took the cloth away from Idrisar’s face and felt his forehead.  "You were a little feverish, but I think it’s gone down, now.

"Oh." Idrisar looked around, squinting near-sightedly as he took in his surroundings.  "Is this one of the bedrooms in the club?"  The lavish, king-sized bed he was in was as comfortable as the one he’d slept in at Zevian’s house.

"That’s right," answered the younger man.  He lowered his ruby gaze.  "This is Zevian’s room.  You were out like a light after L’daris left yesterday.  The boss insisted on letting you have his room to sleep off the effects of what that scum did to you.  He was…really worried."

Idrisar had a hard time imagining a man like Zevian “really worried” about anything…let alone _him_.  He thought he and Ammiteo were just tools to Zevian…tools to track down his sire and get whatever vengeance he could against him.  The revelations from yesterday answered a lot of questions for him, even as they opened up new ones. 

"Where are Ammiteo and Zevian now?" 

"Your Ulvari companion went to the Chalice early this morning.  All I know about that is he said he had a contact from your guild there to meet up with.  Zevian is here, making preparations to visit Azirus island this afternoon.  L’daris contacted him late last night with information about meeting up with a contact there." 

Azurel raised his eyes to gaze into Idrisar’s.  “I don’t trust him.  L’daris used to be my boss, and he’s ruthless.  He was the one that sent me to try and kill Zevian.  He wants him dead, Mr. Blackbird.  I don’t care what he says, _that’s_ his primary goal in life.  I’m afraid Zevian could be going into a trap, but he’s determined to get this information he thinks the ‘contact’ can give him.”

Idrisar nodded in understanding and he reached out to catch the other lifebearer’s hand in his and squeeze it.  “Don’t worry.  I won’t let him go to this island alone.  I just need to finish waking up, eat and change.  Could you possibly bring me my things?” 

"Your glasses, phone and that claw weapon you wear are right there on the bedside table," answered Azurel, "and your clothes are on the trunk at the foot of the bed.  I washed them for you last night."

"Thank you," Idrisar said sincerely.  He reached for the glasses first and slipped them on thankfully.  Now that he was more awake, he realized he wasn’t dressed in the patent leather outfit he’d worn yesterday.  He frowned and released the younger man’s hand as he tugged the covers down.

He was naked.

"Azurel."

The entertainer had turned away to toss the cloth he’d been dabbing Idrisar’s face with into a laundry basket by the door.  “Hmm?”  He glanced over his shoulder.

"Why am I nude under these sheets?"

"Oh, well I thought it would be more comfortable for you to sleep in the nude than to sleep in that creaky leather.  Don’t worry…I wouldn’t have let Zevian strip you—though I’m sure he would have liked to."  Azurel turned around to regard him, tilting his head to the side a little.  "I hope you don’t mind that I got you out of those clothes?  I was only trying to make you more comfortable."

"Oh, I don’t mind that, but…couldn’t I have borrowed some PJ’s of some kind?"

Azurel shrugged.  “You could have…if I had any to give you.  I sleep naked and you only had one pair of knickers with you.  They were being washed with the rest of your outfit.”

"I see."  Idrisar relaxed in the bed, lulled by how comfortable it was.  "I’ll need to have a shower and change into something more appropriate for the job, before we go to this other island.  Do you think you could ask Zevian to arrange a trip to his house, so I can do that?"

"Of course," assured Azurel, "though you _could_ shower here.  There are bathing facilities on this floor and the doors lock, of course.”

"Are there?"  He considered it.  Maybe it _would_ be best to shower here before going, just to save time.  On the other hand, he was very aware that there was a club downstairs and some patrons had the status to use the second floor.  “I think I’ll just wait.”

"Suit yourself.  I’ll go and find Zevian for you and let you get dressed."

Idrisar smiled at the younger man.  “Thank you, Azurel.”

When Azurel left the room, Idrisar reached for his phone and called his superior’s number. 

"This is Ammiteo."

"Sir, I just woke up," explained Idrisar when the director’s voice answered the line.  "I’m about to get dressed and prepare to go to Saber’s house to change into my field garb.  I assume you know that L’daris contacted him last night with the assignation he’d asked for with the alleged contact?"

"Yes, he spoke to me about it," answered Ammiteo.  "How are you feeling?"

"A bit disoriented from sleeping so hard," admitted Idrisar as he sat up in the bed, "but I’ll shake it off.  May I inquire as to your status, sir?"

"I’m on my way to the Chalice, to meet up with two agents from New Tariff staying there for the month.  Once we had a name to give to them, a couple of the Spirit Keepers remembered Tsyther, even though he’s been wiped from their database records and hard files.  One of the agents I’m meeting up with specializes in hacking and he thinks he might be able to recover the lost data—though I’m personally doubtful.  I think we’ll learn more from interviewing the people who remember Sandman than we will from any official files we can recover."

"I agree," sighed Idrisar.  "And that reminds me to ask Zevian why he had his sire’s records wiped out so completely.  Hopefully, I can get a straight answer."

"Good idea," approved Ammiteo.  "Unfortunately, I don’t know if I’ll finish up at the Chalice in time to accompany you to this meeting, unless I cut it short or ask the other agents to investigate for me and report their findings."

Idrisar immediately protested the idea.  “No, don’t do that, sir.  Not to sound elitist, but I prefer one of us to be included in any fact-finding investigations conducted while we’re here.  I trust these agents as Ulvari, but we don’t really know how they perform on the field, yet.”

Ammiteo sounded faintly amused.  “Again, you’ve brought up a good point.  I trust I don’t need to tell you to be alert and ready for anything, when you go to this meeting with Saber.”

"No sir, you don’t.  Please be careful yourself, too.  You never know who may be watching and plotting ways to slow us down or stop us entirely."

"Wise words," answered the director.  "I’ll keep them firmly in mind."

"I’ll contact you when we’re going to leave for Azirus," said Idrisar as he pulled the covers aside and swung his legs over the side of the bed. 

"Good.  Safe hunting, Blackbird."

"You too, Director." 

Idrisar ended the call with a sigh, thinking of the act he’d put on yesterday during the meeting.  Maybe he would have been better off pretending to be Zevian’s “companion”, but he trusted Ammiteo not to get carried away with it and he had conflicting feelings about _both_ men.  He cursed the need for such an act in the first place.  Now there were mixed signals all over the place and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.  This was definitely a bad time to be sorting out feelings of attraction for a work associate and a mafia lord.

He put the phone back on the nightstand and he started to get out of the bed, but he heard footsteps approach and stop outside the bedroom door.  It occurred to him that Azurel hadn’t flipped the lock on his way out of the room and anyone could just walk in.  He got confirmation of that when the knob clicked and turned.  Idrisar dove under the sheets hastily and pulled them up to his chin as the door opened and a familiar, handsome sire peeked in.

"Agent Blackbird?"  Zevian wore his shades and he lifted them to rest on his head as he peered into the room.  "Ah, you’re awake."

"Yes," answered the Ulvari, quickly checking to make sure all of his "private bits" were concealed beneath the thin sheets.  "Azurel didn’t tell you?"  He ruthlessly stamped out the instinctive blush that tried to rise in his cheeks, angry with himself for acting like a bashful teen.  What _was_ it about the man that provoked such stupidity in him?

"No, I must have missed him on my way in from the bakery."  Zevian walked in and shut the door behind him.  His hair was unbound for a change, hanging past his shoulders in a cascade of rich brown and gold strands, with a few pieces woven into small braids.  He was wearing a sleeveless white shirt and a pair of brown leather pants.  He raised his eyebrows when he saw the way the agent was covering himself.  "Are you cold?"

Idrisar shook his head and forced himself to relax a little, lowering the sheets to his waist.  It wasn’t like the man was going to jump him at the sight of his bare chest—he hoped.  “No, I just…wasn’t decent when you started to open the door.  Azurel neglected to lock it on his way out to find you.”

"Ah."  Zevian smirked, his aqua gaze lingering on his naked chest and upper abdomen.  "So…you’re naked under there, eh?"

Idrisar gave him a _look_.  “I’m not in the mood, Saber.”

The sire shrugged and casually had a seat on the edge of the bed.  “It was just a question, Agent Blackbird.  I have more self-control than you think.”

"I suppose," sighed Idrisar.  The man hadn’t laid an improper hand on him yet physically, but his constant flirting and "come hither" gazes were another matter.  "Now that I’m awake, I have a request and a couple of questions for you."

Zevian shrugged again.  “We’ve got some time to kill before we’ve got to start preparing.  Lay it on me.”

"First, I’m afraid I’ll need to take a detour to your house, before we travel to Azirus.  I want to be in full uniform with all necessary field equipment at my disposal.  I’m assuming you’ve considered the possibility that your rival could be setting you up for another attempt at your life."

"The thought _has_ occurred to me,” agreed Zevian dryly.  “I’m not a complete moron.  I don’t know if you want to be carting around an arsenal, though.”

Idrisar smirked.  “The arsenal I specialize in is very…inconspicuous.  If you’re imagining me carrying a bazooka on my back with grenades strapped to my chest and a bag full of guns in my arms, you’re over-reaching.”

Zevian laughed, flashing white teeth.  It was a nice, full-throated laugh and Idrisar found himself smiling as he listened to it and watched him.  The guild lord’s laughter softened to a chuckle after a moment and he shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger.  “I wasn’t thinking of something quite _that_ extreme, but thanks for the mental image.  So tell me, what exactly does a stealth agent carry with him when he’s expecting a shit storm to come down on him?”

"We’re trained to use lightweight, easily concealed weapons.  I believe the heaviest equipment I’ll have on me will be my ion guns." 

Zevian nodded in approval.  “Sounds a little like my typical arsenal.”  He crossed an ankle over a knee and showed Idrisar the hidden knife in the sole of his boot.  “The fewer weapons your opponent knows about, the better your advantage.”

"Absolutely," agreed Idrisar, "though, you might want to consider bringing your swords for this.  You’re still in practice with them, aren’t you?"

"Of course," answered the sire.  He frowned, studying Idrisar soberly.  "You’re really worried about this, aren’t you?"

"I just don’t want to be unprepared," answered the agent.

"I’ll have people there watching," promised Zevian.  "We’ll have backup, if something goes down.  I’ll do as you suggest and bring the swords, though."

Idrisar nodded.  “Now for my first question.  Why did you have all of Tsyther’s records destroyed or hidden?  Somehow, I don’t believe it was out of any desire to protect him.  Even if you suspected he was still alive, you had to have another reason for it.”

Zevian sighed, looking away.  “Honestly?  I think I wanted to erase _him_.  I was grieving, trying to figure out how to raise a kid instead of just being there for the picturesque moments.  Urahis was the one that knew how to take care of Orin when he was sick.  He was the one that sang away his nightmares, kept him from eating detergent and got him potty trained.  I was just the clown that played with him and told him bedtime stories.  I figured if Tsyther _was_ alive somewhere, I never wanted to know about it, and I never wanted my son to know about it, either.  As far as Orindel knew, his grandsire died in an explosion when he was three.  I wanted to keep it that way.”

Zevian looked at him again, his eyes shadowed with remembered pain.  “You remember what I was like, Blackbird.”

Idrisar did indeed remember, and he lowered his eyes to the sheets as he thought back on the day he first met Zevian.  The agency sent him to assist with the investigation of a mafia war gone out of control, along with what was described as an energy anomaly on Oricus.  Now he knew the truth behind those events, though they had been covered up so thoroughly at the time of the investigation that he was eventually ordered to drop the case and return home.  Zevian was the man they sent him to contact, in the hopes of getting his cooperation. 

He recalled the day when he knocked on Zevian’s door.  He was living in a different house, at the time—a smaller one, in the heart of town.  Idrisar remembered Zevian’s grief-ravaged, embittered face when the sire answered the door, and hearing his young toddler crying in the background.  He was the very picture of exhaustion, anger and pain.  Having worn that very same expression himself over twenty years before then, Idrisar felt his heart breaking just looking at the mafia lord.

"Yes, I remember how you were," murmured the agent, swallowing.  He raised his eyes to meet the other man’s, not bothering to hide his sympathy.  "I never thanked you for cooperating with me, even though you were in mourning."

"I didn’t exactly cooperate," reminded Zevian.  "I mislead you."

"But you didn’t turn me away, and you had every right to."

Zevian’s eyes stayed on him and he nodded slowly.  “Do you know why?”

Idrisar shook his head.

"Because the first thing you said when you looked at me was: ‘ _I’m deeply sorry for your loss, Mr. Saber_ ’.  You didn’t make any demands, you didn’t make any assumptions…you just offered comfort…and it was sincere.  That one little kindness was what kept me from slamming the door in your face.”

Idrisar smiled softly.  “Well, I had some idea of what you were going through.  When I saw the expression on your face, it was like looking into a mirror.  I didn’t want to start off by making demands on you.”

Zevian’s hand eased over the sheets to Idrisar’s, and the lifebearer didn’t try to pull away as it covered his and squeezed it.  “No, you helped me get my kid to stop crying, instead.  You’ve got a way with the little ones, Agent.” 

 ”I had to raise two of my own alone, so I had some practice.”  Idrisar sighed and returned the pressure of the sire’s hand.  “I think the hardest part for me back then was leaving them with a nanny when I had to go away on assignments.  I came close to resigning and trying to find other work, even though I knew it wouldn’t be as satisfying and I’d be taking a pay cut.”

"Then why would you look for another job?" wondered Zevian with a frown.

Idrisar caught his upper lip between his teeth briefly and then released it.  “Because this line of work is dangerous, and they’d already lost their sire.  I thought I could guarantee my presence in their lives better if I chose a less risky line of work—at least until they grew up and finished school.”

"Hmm.  So what changed your mind?"  Zevian scooted a little closer, his thumb stroking over the tops of Idrisar’s knuckles. 

Idrisar couldn’t make himself break the sire’s gaze.  “I saw a man get hit by a city bus crossing the street.”

Zevian blinked and then he snorted.  “Eh, sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. That just wasn’t the kind of answer I was expecting from you.”

 Idrisar smiled a little as well.  “I _did_ toss it out of the blue, didn’t I?  The point is this man wasn’t doing anything particularly dangerous.  He failed to see the bus because of another bus pulled up at the stop, and the driver failed to see him until it was too late.  It was almost cliché.  I’ve heard people say: ‘tomorrow I could get run over’ when discussing risky behavior, but actually seeing a man lose his life just for trying to cross the street, I realized there aren’t any guarantees in life.  My spouse was a strong, healthy man who ate right and took care of his body, but it didn’t stop the cancer from developing, spreading and killing him.”

Zevian nodded.  “And Urahis wasn’t involved in the ‘business’, nor did he ever harm a living soul.”

"It seems we can’t predict who’s safe and who isn’t," murmured Idrisar.  "That was what ultimately convinced me not to quit my work with the Ulvari.  When it’s my time to go, it’s my time to go.  It won’t matter if I’m working as an agent or at a flower shop; death will find me."

Zevian nodded, his eyes holding Idrisar’s.  “Make you appreciate life more, doesn’t it?  You’ve got to seize every opportunity you can.”

"Yes," agreed Idrisar, his voice softening further.  "You do." 

Zevian was closing in on him and he couldn’t bring himself to put a stop to it, even though he knew he should.  The sire tilted his head and parted his lips as he reached up with his free hand and caressed Idrisar’s jaw with his fingertips.  Idrisar parted his lips as well, unconsciously leaning forward to meet the other man halfway.  Their mouths met and their lips caressed, gently at first, and then with increasing intensity.  Zevian’s fingers pushed through Idrisar’s dark hair and he deepened the kiss.  Idrisar parted his lips and when the sire’s tongue met his, he stroked it with lazy sensuality.  Zevian let him explore his mouth for a few moments before pushing back demandingly and sliding his tongue into Idrisar’s mouth. 

Zevian started to urge the lifebearer to lie back down and Idrisar complied, driven to impulse by sexual urges that were still very much intact.  His needs had gone unsatisfied for far too long.  Zevian deftly eased his glasses off and blindly set them on the bedside table next to Idrisar’s Mokalor, before doing the same with the lifebearer’s prescription glasses.  He purred in his throat and his breath quickened as he slid further onto the bed and hovered over Idrisar.  His lips, tongue and teeth worked in licentious conjunction, promising pleasures yet to come. 

It wasn’t how Idrisar expected a first kiss with the mafia lord to go.  He’d imagined Zevian being more raw and aggressive, even if he was more generous than the typical alpha male.  This gentle yet intense passion was as unexpected as it was delightful, and it was rapidly disarming him.  He smoothed his hands over the sire’s strong shoulders and down his arms, feeling the toned muscles.  Zevian supported himself on one elbow and slipped his fingers out of Idrisar’s hair to caress his cheek, his jaw and his throat.  His tongue fondled the lifebearer’s with tender insistence as his hand stroked over his chest, pausing to pleasure one of his nipples on its way. 

"Idrisar," breathed Zevian huskily, his lips breaking away from his to kiss a path down the lifebearer’s chin and throat.  Idrisar arched his back and neck, silently encouraging the other man’s actions even as he started to pull Zevian’s shirt out of his pants so that he could slide his hands underneath it.              

What snapped the Ulvari out of his lusty trance was the sound of Azurel’s voice somewhere down the hallway, asking someone if they’d seen Zevian.  Idrisar caught his companion’s hand just as it was starting to slide under the sheets to fondle the prominent erection he was now sporting.  Zevian obligingly stopped his trajectory, but he evidently misunderstood the action to mean he was just going too fast.  His lips continued to nuzzle Idrisar’s throat with passionate enthusiasm and his fingertips traced patterns over his bare abdomen, seemingly content to wait there for a while until given the nod to go below the equator. 

"Zevian," Idrisar murmured, hardly recognizing his own voice when he heard the breathy, needy tone of it, "I think we’ve ‘seized’ enough."

Zevian’s kisses slowed and stopped.  He pulled away to look at Idrisar with frustration and confusion he couldn’t completely veil, but he didn’t argue.  He took his hand off Idrisar’s stomach and sat up, smirking in a somewhat painful manner at him as he held his hands out.

"All right.  No more ‘seizing’ until you’re ready.  I can behave."  His glowing eyes flicked to the tent in the sheets and he made a soft sound of desire in his throat.  "Good things are worth waiting for."

"Well, I hope you mean that, because we’re going to be waiting for a long time," sighed Idrisar.  He hated himself for his decision, even though he knew he would have hated himself even more if he’d given into his body’s demands and satisfied his lust.  The door still wasn’t locked.  He could just picture young Azurel walking in on them and that thought alone was enough to cool his libido.

"I get it," Zevian said, slightly breathless.  "You’re right; now is a bad time for this." 

He squirmed and Idrisar winced in sympathy when he saw the size of the bulge in his leather pants.  That couldn’t be comfortable.  He had to nip this in the bud right now, though.  What had just happened reminded him of his second question.

"This isn’t just about us, Zevian.  You know he’s in love with you, don’t you?"

Zevian looked at him blankly for a couple of seconds, but comprehension quickly bled into his bronze features and he looked away with a sigh.  “A kid’s crush.  He just _thinks_ he loves me because I’m the first sire that ever showed him any kindness.  It’ll pass.”

"Is that what you think?"  Idrisar sighed, unable to find any blame in his heart for the man.  After observing the situation, he understood that Zevian was trying to do right by Azurel…trying to be a gentleman and a protector.  Even rogues had their honor.  "Zevian, it’s not just a phase.  A ‘kid’s crush’ wouldn’t last for three years and trust me, what I saw in his eyes when he talked about you was as real as it gets.  As a lifebearer who has loved fiercely myself, I can promise that."

Zevian’s gaze betrayed a flash of uncertainty when it met his again—just as Idrisar expected.  It seemed that once again, he and Zevian were caught up in similar dilemmas.  The guild lord proved it with his next comment.  “What about you and your director?  Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way he looks at you.  Are you sure this isn’t really about _him_?”

Idrisar lowered his eyes humbly.  “Part of it is,” he admitted.  “I know he sees more than a field agent when he looks at me, and I would be lying if I said it isn’t reciprocated, on my part.  Yesterday was a mistake.  I think my decision to play the role of his ‘companion’ may have fogged our professional relationship further.”

"What were you supposed to do," demanded Zevian, unexpectedly defending the lifebearer, "pick _me_ as your ‘keeper’?  You chose the sire you thought would play along without taking advantage.  Personally, I can’t say I blame you for trusting him more than me.  I probably would have copped a feel.”

Idrisar chuckled in spite of himself.  Very much aware of his nudity beneath the sheets and the lingering sexual tension in the air, he buckled down.  “Until we finish our work here and figure out exactly what’s between us and our companions, you and I can’t allow a moment like that to happen again, Zevian.  Do you agree?”

The guild lord sighed, his aqua gaze caressing the Ulvari regretfully before he nodded.  “Even if I didn’t, I know you aren’t going to budge.  If it were possible to move mountains through sheer willpower, I think you’d be able to do it.”

Idrisar managed a tiny smile.  “I’ll settle for using my willpower to convince you to leave the room so that I can get dressed.”

Zevian grinned at him and though it seemed a little forced, Idrisar was glad he was being so understanding.  “I suppose asking you to let me at least catch a glimpse of what I’m missing out on won’t fly, eh?”

"Don’t go there," warned Idrisar, but he was grinning, too.  "Demonstrate the ‘gentleman rogue’ for me please."

 Zevian clucked his tongue, caught up the lifebearer’s hand and kissed the palm.  “The things I do for your approval.”  He released his hand and got up.  He twisted the lock on the door before exiting the room, so that none of the staff could walk in on Idrisar while he was dressing.

Idrisar unconsciously rubbed the spot where Zevian’s lips had caressed his palm.  Unlike that…creature…L’daris, Zevian’s kiss conveyed respect, sensuality and affection.  The first time he did it to him, Idrisar didn’t quite know what to do.  He learned it was a common Zarnian gesture of respect for sires to kiss the palms of lifebearers they admired, and after that, it didn’t seem so strange to him.  Of course, Zevian was the only one that made his palm tingle when he kissed it. 

"Clothes," reminded the lifebearer to himself. 

He had an assignment to do today and he needed to put his personal chaos on the back burner and stay alert.  He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he put his glasses back on and got out of bed to retrieve his clothes.  He reached up and touched the weaves that gave the illusion of his hair falling to his shoulders.  It had been a long time since he’d allowed the back to grow longer than collar-length and it was a bit startling to see it this long and back to his base color.  He made a mental note to ask Azurel to take the weaves out before he left.  He didn’t mind leaving it the dark chestnut color for now, but he wasn’t used to it touching his shoulders and he didn’t want the added distraction—small though it was.

"Ammiteo," he murmured as he picked up his shirt first and slipped it over his shoulders, "I hope your faith in me isn’t misplaced." 

* * *

 

A set of prescription contact lenses arrived in the mail at Zevian’s home for Idrisar, courtesy of express mail sent by the guild at the agent’s request.  He wasted no time in putting them in and he showered, changed into his field uniform and prepared for the trip.  Zevian likewise made his preparations, checking the travel arrangements and inspecting weapons with his men. 

They took a noon domestic flight out of Oricus, traveling straight over the Chalice to their destination.  Due to his status as a guild lord, they were able to skip security checkpoints and nobody stopped them from carrying their weapons with them.  Zevian wasn’t terribly excited to be in Azirus again.  As they touched down and exited the plane, he couldn’t help but notice that the airport had fallen into further disrepair and the number of degenerates lazing about seemed to be greater than ever.  It felt like they were wading through a population of street gangs.  He spotted some Ripper sashes amongst a group of rough-looking humans by the baggage claim and he nudged his Ulvari companion and nodded subtly in their direction. 

There were nearly a dozen of them, dressed mostly in faded, torn jeans, leather and sleeveless shirts.  Their fashion sense reminded him of his son and the mafia lord smirked a little, thinking Orindel could probably fit right in with them. While most appeared to be Ocathian, a few had the fair complexions of Avran lineage. 

"Rippers," muttered Zevian out the corner of his mouth when Idrisar followed his gesture with his eyes.  "Or rather, initiates.  These guys haven’t earned their ‘sails’ yet, I’m guessing.  See those charming winners over there with the purple bandannas eyeing them off?"

"Yes," murmured Idrisar.  The group in question consisted of a mixture of lashran and humans.

"They’re territorial rivals," finished Zevian.

"Yeah, the Wayfarers," Johnny said in a low voice upon recognizing their colors.  "Looks like there could be a fight, boss."

Zevian wasn’t so sure about that.  While the airport security wasn’t top-notch, he noticed a few guards standing around communicating through their transmitters as they eyed the two groups.  The rival initiates seemed to realize it might not be a great idea to start anything with each other inside the building.  Some of them were picking up bags as they passed on the luggage conveyer and it seemed to be just coincidental that the two groups arrived at the same travel gate. 

"Just keep an eye out," instructed the mafia boss, looking around through his shades.  "This place hasn’t gone completely down the shitter yet, but let’s not slack off."

"Absolutely," agreed Vylden.

"It’s a disgrace," muttered Therril with a frown, his scar-slashed face scowling at the riffraff surrounding the baggage claim.  "What the hell is Xellnaise _doing_?”

"Everything he can, I’m sure," Zevian said firmly.  "He’s got pressure from all sides and I’ll remind you that he’s a guild lord.  Speak respectfully when you talk about him."

"I’m trying," excused Therril.  "Sorry, boss."

Some of the men in both gangs were eyeing his group with interest and Zevian made a subtle gesture to shift his long coat, revealing the twin long swords sheathed at his hips and the guns strapped to his thighs.  Seeing how well-armed he was and noticing the sharp-dressed men flanking him, they lost interest fast.  Zevian relaxed a bit, until he realized that Idrisar had gotten a little bit ahead of him.  Zevian looked at him and he nearly groaned.

Outfits that tight should _not_ be so flexible, but the shiny material looked like leather and moved like spandex.  It fit the agent’s lithe body like a sleek black glove and Zevian’s eyes latched helplessly onto the curve of Idrisar’s toned, perfect ass.  The guild lord tore his gaze away with effort and he realized most of the lashran and a couple of the humans in the groups seemed to share his sentiments about the outfit and its owner.  Idrisar was carrying his guns in the tote bag he held in his left hand, so people naturally presumed he was just a hot young man with a smoking body in a provocatively snug bodysuit.

Both Vylden and Therril were casting covertly admiring looks at the Ulvari agent’s delectable backside, too.  Zevian predicted there would be some trouble before long—especially if Idrisar somehow got separated from him and his men.   

"Stay close to me," muttered Zevian after increasing his stride to come up beside the lifebearer. 

Idrisar looked at him sidelong, his comely features betraying a hint of annoyance.  “I don’t need protection.”

"You don’t need to make a scene, either," countered the guild lord under his breath.  "I know you could toss any one of these scum on their backs in a heartbeat, but think of the attention that would draw.  You stand _out_ , Blackbird.”

Idrisar seemed to notice the looks he was getting.  “I…hadn’t thought of that.  To me, this is just a flexible body suit I wear for protection and ease of movement on assignments.”

Zevian resisted a chuckle.  How the man could put on such a convincing act of sensuality one day and be so clueless about his own sex appeal the next was a mystery to him.  “Well, to everyone else it’s a ‘look at what a hot sex kitten I am’ suit.  You could have worn _that_ yesterday, instead of the patent leather getup.  It gets the same results from people.”

Idrisar sighed and allowed the sire to put an arm around him.  “It’s only until we get out of this airport,” warned the lifebearer softly. 

"Of course," agreed Zevian.

* * *

 

They took separate modes of transportation to the appointed location of contact. Idrisar watched the passing scenery with interest.  Azirus wasn’t kept nearly as well as Oricus.  He kept thinking they must simply be traveling through bad parts of town, but he could see no evidence of improvement.  The architecture of the buildings was the same, but there was graffiti everywhere and the structures were in disrepair. 

"What is the guild lord of this island like?" Idrisar asked.

"Xellnaise?"  Zevian exchanged an amused look with his men.  "He’s eccentric, to put it mildly.  He inherited his sire’s legacy and he honestly didn’t really want it.  Order in Azirus was already on the decline when his old man died and unfortunately, there was nobody else to take up the torch.  He never wanted to get involved in the brotherhood, but he’s doing the best he can with the hand he was dealt."

Idrisar nodded in understanding.  From what he understood, Zevian became a mafia boss through his own line of work, under the employment of Oricus’ previous guild lord.  The man had no offspring to pass his legacy onto, so he chose Zevian to take up the torch.  He could have refused the offer and tried his hand at a more “legit” career in life, but for many people in Zarn, the best employment opportunities were in the mafia and the smuggling cartel.  Getting honest work on the Chalice required having connections that most average people did not have.  It was a brutal cycle.

"The dude should have been a lifebearer, with a face like his," Johnny remarked.  He spread his hands when his employer looked at him with a raised brow.  "What?  I’m just saying he’s got a pretty face for a sire, is all."

"Are you _sure_ you aren’t into guys?” Adam watched the older human man suspiciously, seeming like he was only half-kidding.  “You talk about lashran looks a lot, for a guy that’s always announcing how straight he is.”

"It was just an observation."  Johnny glared at his younger counterpart, prompting the redhead to shut his mouth and say no more.

Idrisar hid a smile behind his hand.  Humans never ceased to amuse him, with their bold, blunt ways and decisive mannerisms.  They tended to live fast and hard compared to lashran—possibly because the natural course of their lives was so blasted short. 

"Where are we scheduled to meet this contact?"

Zevian checked his phone, where he’d stored the information into the navigation application.  “A warehouse at the edge of town.  We should be there in under a half hour.”

"A warehouse?"  Idrisar sighed.

Mistaking the reason for the tired response, Zevian smirked.  “I know it’s cliché, but warehouses make good, neutral territory when you don’t want outsiders seeing who you’re meeting up with.”

"It’s not the witnesses that bother me," explained Idrisar.  "It’s the lack of them.  The last time I followed you to a warehouse, it didn’t turn out very good for either of us."

"Point taken.  That’s why I’ve got more people following us, Blackbird."  Zevian checked the coordinates again.  "And honestly, even if L’daris is trying to set me up for a hit, I’d rather a firefight happen in some remote place than in the middle of the city, where civilians could get caught up in it."

Idrisar nodded.  He could definitely agree with his sentiments on keeping it away from the local populace, whatever happened.   

* * *

 

They arrived outside the warehouse at the edge of the city, and the vehicle following them turned off on a side road to lie in wait, ready to send aid if something went down.  Therril stepped out of the car first, surveying the area with sharp eyes before giving a nod to his boss and the Ulvari agent accompanying him.  There was another car parked near the fence surrounding the warehouse and a couple of sires stood by it and watched as the Oricus visitors got out of their vehicle.

Zevian frowned and tilted his head when he saw the white and gray suits the other men were wearing.  He saw the pearl color of the sedan and he leaned towards Vylden.  “Is my memory wrong, or are those Quartz’ men?”

"You’re not wrong, boss," muttered the gangster, tugging down his shades to peer over them.  "Looks like that’s Mr. Quartz getting out of the car, now."

Indeed, one of the suited men pulled the door open and Xellnaise Quartz stepped out of the sedan.  His thick, wavy silver hair was held back from his face on the sides with two pearl combs, displaying his aristocratically pointed ears and the twin crystals hanging from the lobes.  He wore a shimmering silver button-up shirt, white pants and knee-high gray boots. 

"He’s very…reflective," Idrisar observed, shading his eyes from the sun with a hand. 

"Maybe the idea is to blind anyone trying to take a shot at him," murmured Adam.

"No," sighed Zevian, "It’s more like his fascination with stars manifests in everything he wears or drives."

"So _he’s_ our contact?”  Asked Johnny. 

It was ironic that they’d just been discussing the man on the way there.  “Looks like it,” answered Zevian.

Xellnaise spotted Zevian and he waved in greeting, as if it were a day in the park.  He wasn’t paying attention and he nearly smacked one of his escorts in the face when he made the gesture.  

Zevian sighed.  Only his intense desire to find Tsyther kept him from writing this off as a joke and calling it a day.  “Space cadet,” he muttered beneath his breath.  “Well, let’s go greet our friend and find out what he has for us—if anything.”

* * *

 

Idrisar observed the Azirus guild lord, taking in little details about him and storing them in his head for reference.  Xellnaise Quartz was as flashy as his name and shirt, offering bright smiles for everyone and demonstrating a carefree attitude that Idrisar found a little out of place for a mafia lord.  His personality lent credence to Zevian’s story about how he came to be lord of the island and how unsuited for it he was.  His gestures and movements might have been graceful, if he were more aware of his surroundings.  As it was, Xellnaise seemed to have his head in the clouds and it made him a bit of a klutz.   

He was about an inch and a half shorter than Zevian and he had gorgeous, flowing silver hair.  His skin was flawless and soft looking and as earlier mentioned in the car, his features were rather delicate for a sire.  What Idrisar found most fascinating about the man’s appearance were his eyes.  He had heterochromatic eyes—a rare enough mutation amongst humans but rarer still amongst lashran.  The left eye was blue and the right was green.

"How have you been, Zevian?"  Xellnaise shook hands with the Oricus guild lord.

"Not bad," answered Zevian.  "Save for some recent complications, but we’re working those out.  And you?"

"Oh, I’ve seen better days," confessed Xellnaise, "but I’m always hopeful.  Maybe we can help each other out.  I’d be happy to give you something in exchange for a little aid."

Zevian nodded, avoiding discussing the details out in the open.  “Of course.  I must admit I was a little surprised to see you here.  I wasn’t expecting you to be involved in this.”

"No more surprised than I was to see you pull up," answered the shorter boss with a chuckle.  His gaze slid to Idrisar with interest.  "And who is this, may I ask?"

Zevian glanced at the Ulvari and he put an arm around him casually.  “This is Idrisar Blackbird.  He’s a friend.”

A look of comprehension spread over Xellnaise’s face and he grinned.  “Oh, I see.”

“ _Not_ that kind of friend,” corrected Idrisar hastily, guessing what the man was thinking.

"Oh?"  Xellnaise’s expression changed to a different sort of interest and his gaze swept the lifebearer up and down.  "You’re…someone else’s ‘friend’, then?"

"No."  Idrisar was trying not to laugh, finding the eccentric sire’s attempt to be polite amusing.  "I’m friendless, in that fashion.  I’m here on business."

"Well, if you’re ‘friendless’, perhaps after we’ve conducted our business I could interest you in—"

"He’s not looking for a ‘friend’," interrupted Zevian, "Are we going to do business or not, Xellnaise?"

"My apologies," said Xellnaise—not to Zevian, but to Idrisar.  "It’s just been a long time since I’ve seen any foreign lifebearers set foot on my island.  Forgive my eagerness, Mr. Blackbird."

By now, Idrisar was used to being hit on by sires and he found this man’s polite advances far more acceptable than some of the lines he’d gotten from others.  “It’s quite all right, Mr. Quartz.”

"Well, shall we go inside and conduct our business?" suggested Xellnaise.  "I prefer we discuss it alone, if you don’t mind.  Could we have our people wait out here?  This is…delicate information, you understand."

Idrisar disliked the idea immediately—not because of any vibe he was getting from Xellnaise, but because of the nagging suspicion that something else wasn’t right with this situation.  “Zevian, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Zevian stroked his chin thoughtfully, looking off at the warehouse and the surrounding landscape.  There was some sparse forest growth surrounding the area and an abandoned factory to the west.  Zevian seemed to find Idrisar’s caution sound, because he nodded and made a counter proposal.

"I think we should each take one person in with us.  Don’t forget who set up this meeting."

Xellnaise hesitated for a moment and then nodded his consent.  “Prudent reminder.”  He motioned the shorter of his two escorts over to him.  “Choose your man and let’s go.”

Zevian gave Idrisar a nod without hesitation and Xellnaise raised his eyebrows.  Seeing his reaction, Saber chuckled and leaned close to the other boss to murmur something in his ear.

“ _Really_?” blurted Xellnaise softly, with a wide-eyed look of astonishment at Idrisar.  His eyes dropped to the ion guns strapped to the lifebearer’s thighs and he gave a start, as if noticing them for the first time.  “Well, that explains the outfit!  I thought…well, never mind what I thought, but this is _really_ exciting.  I’ve never met an Ulvari operative before and—”

"Ask your questions later," snapped Zevian in annoyance.  He gave Idrisar an apologetic look.  "I didn’t whisper it so you could shout it out for the world to hear."

"I didn’t shout—"

"Gentlemen, this day isn’t getting any younger," Idrisar intervened, "I’ll be happy to answer whatever questions I can for you later, Mr. Quartz.  You and Mr. Saber have more important matters to attend."

"Of course," agreed Xellnaise sheepishly, blushing in a charming manner.  "How elegantly you put me in my place, Mr. Blackbird.  By all means, let’s get our business underway."

* * *

 

His mind was full of questions for the gorgeous young man in his associate’s company and Xellnaise was hard-put not to stare at him.  He never saw lifebearers wearing their hair that short in the back around Zarn, but it was a very good look for Idrisar and it was such an interesting shade…like a black cherry.  Those pale blue eyes provided a startling but arresting contrast to the dark hair and the bone structure of his face was nothing short of stunning.  By looks alone, he was a fascinating creature but being an agent of the Ulvari-vash made him even _more_ exotic. 

Idrisar glanced at him and Xellnaise hastily looked away, embarrassed to be caught ogling.  Now that he thought of it, the lifebearer couldn’t really be _that_ young, to be a certified Ulvari operative.  He could even be older than Saber, for all he knew. 

"I haven’t thanked you for coming," Xellnaise said to Zevian, remembering his manners.  "This has been such a burden for me, and knowing you intend to do something about it makes me feel better already."

 ”I intend to give it my all,” assured Zevian.  “Once I have the information I require.”

"I’m going to scout the perimeter," murmured Idrisar.  "I’ll meet you inside shortly."

Xellnaise turned to assure the agent that his men had already checked everything out, but Idrisar was gone—just like that.  Xellnaise looked around wildly, his silver hair whipping as he turned his head this way and that.  Sure, there were disposal units, empty fuel drums and scrap piles around that he could have ducked behind, but _that_ quickly?

"Uh…where did he go?"

Zevian also looked around and he shrugged.  “To scout, like he said.  I wouldn’t worry.”

Xellnaise blinked.  “But…he was _just here_!”

"Ulvari," reminded Zevian with a hint of smugness in his tone.

"Wow," sighed Xellnaise.  "Gone, like a shooting star.  That is one _neat_ trick.”

* * *

 

-To be continued   


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

_Valkyrie Falls, 5:17 a.m.:_

Haden groaned as the phone went off, cursing the morning all who rose at such an ungodly hour to wake him up.  He rolled over and reached out to snatch the device off his bedside table, only to knock it off onto the floor. 

"Muh…come’ere," he mumbled, flopping his upper body over the side of the bed to reach for the fallen phone.  He grabbed it and activated it before bringing it to his ear.  "Yuh-huh?"

"Up and at ‘em, mate," Glaive’s voice said on the other line.  "We’ve got a positive Sandman sighting on the west side and I need you to come and help with the apprehension attempt.  I don’t trust any of these wankers on the job."

Haden looked at the space beside him on the bed in confusion.  “I didn’t even know you left,” he mumbled, disoriented but trained to rouse quickly when necessary. 

"Couldn’t sleep," excused the lishere, "so I came to Headquarters to do more grinding.  We just got the call now.  Hurry it up, Wolfe.  This is our chance to bring Ye Auld Fuckface in, slim though it may be."

"Got it."  Haden checked his watch and climbed out of the bed, bouncing on his feet to get the blood flowing.  "Give me the coordinates and I’ll meet up with you guys, partner."

* * *

 

_Azirus island, Zarn, 3:21 p.m.:_

The warehouse was spacious and Zevian looked at the stacks of crates against the walls warily.  “You said your people already checked it out in here?” he asked of his companion.

Xellnaise looked at his employee, a stocky sire with short-cut blond hair and hazel eyes.  The man wasn’t particularly tall—possibly only an inch taller than Idrisar—but he was powerfully built.  He nodded at his boss reassuringly and answered his unspoken question.  “Quinn said the place was clean when he checked it out, boss.”

"Well, there you go."  Xellnaise sighed and took a seat on one of the smaller crates by a support pillar.  "Shall we discuss our business, Zevian?"

The Oricus guild lord nodded and leaned against the pillar across from his companion, crossing his arms over his chest.  He bent one knee and planted the sole of his boot against the pillar.  He dug a gold case out his coat and he flipped it open, selecting a rolled-up clove cigarette before shutting it.  He flipped the case around as he put the cigarette between his lips and he activated the lighter built into it.  He took a drag and blew the scented smoke into the air.  He wasn’t a big smoker but sometimes, it helped calm the nerves.

"I’d like to hear what you have to say first, if you don’t mind."

"Oh, of course," agreed Xellnaise amicably.  "After all, you’re doing me a favor."

Zevian frowned at him, lowering his head to peer at the silver-haired lashran over the top of his shades.  This was the second time Xellnaise said something like that, and it made no sense to him. 

"It started with my daughter," explained Xellnaise.

Zevian raised his eyebrows and exhaled another puff of smoke.  “Daughter?”

"Yes," answered the other sire.  "Her name is Whitney.  I know some people would say she’s better off with other humans, but—"

"Whoa, hold on a minute," interrupted Zevian, now completely confused.  "You have a _human_ daughter?  Since when?”

"Oh, I adopted her two years ago," answered the other man.  "That’s right, you’ve never had the chance to meet her, have you?  She’s a darling little thing with wavy dark hair and expressive brown eyes—"

"Wait…time out," demanded Zevian, "I’m thrilled for your adoptive bliss, but what in the hell does this have to do with our business?"

Now Xellnaise looked confused.  “Well, she was kidnapped…by the Rippers.  They’re holding her hostage in an attempt to coerce me into signing over the southern port to them completely.  I don’t have the manpower to run a raid alone and the authorities in the Chalice have more or less informed me that I’m on my own.”

He got his wallet out of his back pocket and he stood up, approaching Zevian as he flipped it open.  He showed him a photo of a little girl not quite into her preteens, yet.  She was a pretty child and she looked to be Ocathian in origins, with mocha skin, a sweet smile and intelligent dark eyes.  “This is my Whitney.  Isn’t she beautiful, Zevian?  She’ll be twelve next month.  I found her shining shoes for money one day and when I realized she was living in a crate…well…I couldn’t help myself.”

It wasn’t very surprising to hear that the man had taken in a stray, given Xellnaise’ gentle nature.  After thinking it over for a moment, Zevian thought he understood.  “So you want my help dealing with these kidnappers in exchange for the information you have on Tsyther, is that is?”

 ”Tsyther?”  Xellnaise blinked his dual-colored eyes at him owlishly.  “I have information on him?”

A sinking feeling grew in the pit of Zevian’s stomach and he dropped his cigarette to the floor and crushed it out with his boot, shooting another look around.  “That’s what I was told.”

"But…Tsyther’s been dead for years!"  Xellnaise cocked his head.  "Hasn’t he?"

"You have no idea why I’m really here, do you?"  Zevian didn’t even know why he bothered asking.  The answer to his question was plain on Xellnaise’s pretty face.

"L’daris told me he knew someone that could probably help me," answered the silver-clad lashran with a frown.  "He said he couldn’t give me a name right away.  When you showed up, I just assumed that was what you were here for."

"And you _trusted him_?” snapped Zevian in frustration.

"Well, evidently _you_ did too,” pointed out Xellnaise.  “It seems we were both desperate enough to risk it, Zevian.  Let’s not judge each other and instead try to figure out exactly what he hoped to gain with this prank.” 

There was a ruckus outside and Zevian heard Therril’s voice shouting for someone to get down.  The gunfire that followed left little doubt of what was going on.

"Fuck."  Zevian reached for his guns. 

Xellnaise just looked hopelessly confused.  “What’s happening?”

"This is no ‘prank’," answered Zevian with certainty, putting his back against the pillar and peeking around it at the doors that they came in through.  He nodded at the other guild lord’s escort.  "Better get ready.  They’re under fire out there and it’s pretty heavy by the sounds of it."  He peered toward the door again, debating whether it was worth the risk of trying to barricade it before their attackers got through their men.  He wondered where Idrisar was and his anxiety spiked at the thought of the lifebearer injured out there.

Xellnaise made a sound of distressed surprise that drew Zevian’s attention back to him.  He stared at the spectacle of the man’s own bodyguard holding a gun to his head and comprehension took a second to kick in.

"Well, _this_ can’t be good,” proclaimed Xellnaise, staring sidelong at the traitor.

"I wouldn’t," advised the bodyguard when Zevian started to draw his guns.  "Even if you don’t care what happens to Mr. Quartz, you’re sporting a nice red dot over your heart right now, Mr. Saber.  You’d be shot dead before you could make a move."

Zevian risked a quick glance down for confirmation and he found that the man was telling the truth.  He grumbled under his breath and held his hands out.  “Perfect.” 

He _knew_ he should have had someone inspect those crates before they came in here, and when some of them shifted to reveal armed, black-clad men of both lashran and human origins, he had his proof that he was right.  One of the humans held an elaborate, laser-sited gun on him as the group of twelve came out of hiding and surrounded them.  Zevian studied them shrewdly before settling his gaze on the traitor bodyguard again. 

"Let me guess: L’daris set this up to get rid of both of us at once.  With us out of the way, he can temporarily gain control of all the trade between the three islands until we’re replaced.  Maybe he even thinks he can influence who steps up next and insure that they’re more cooperative with him than we’ve been."

"Something like that," answered the guard.  "Though I don’t understand why you fell for the ruse, if you’ve got it all figured out."

"The chance that it could be legit was worth the risk, to me," answered Zevian with a shrug.  One of the men started to approach him with the obvious intention of disarming him and Zevian narrowed his eyes dangerously at him, giving him pause.  Even hopelessly outnumbered and supposedly subdued, the confidence in his aqua gaze never wavered.  "So now you just expect us to die without a fight?" 

"These guys are mercenaries," answered the guard with a nod at the others, "and so are a couple of those people out there with L’daris’ men right now, attacking your people.  They’re in it for the money and so am I."  He looked at Xellnaise’s dismayed face.  "Sorry Mr. Quartz, it’s nothing personal.  I always liked you but Mr. Undir offered me a lot of money to do this.  I’m not unreasonable, though, and neither are these other men."

Zevian noticed something above and behind the ambushers and he deliberately avoided shifting his gaze or changing his expression.  “What did you have in mind?”

The guard looked around at the others and the one that had been keeping the laser-sited weapon trained on Zevian gave a nod.  The guard nodded back and he addressed both of the captives.  “Like I said; this is all about money, to us.  Nobody has to die today if the credit score is good…understand?”

Zevian smirked.  “Oh, I understand.  I think you gentlemen are forgetting something, however.”

The guard looked at his companions and frowned.  “Such as?”

A sleek, black-clad form suddenly dropped from the ceiling and landed soundlessly behind the traitor guard.  All backs were turned to it save for Zevian’s, so none of them saw the attack coming.  The stealth agent had his guns ready and he moved with startling speed.  White lozenges of ionic plasma fired from the two slim pistols aimed at the men on either side of the guard, while at the same time, a low, sweeping kick knocked the bodyguard right off his feet and caused him to accidentally shoot one of his own allies in the knee on his way down. 

"Him," answered Zevian succinctly, nodding at the flurry of motion that was Idrisar.

* * *

 

Disoriented by the sudden, unexpected attack, the ambushers were no longer concerned with Zevian or Xellnaise—though to be fair, they hadn’t seemed particularly worried about the silver-haired sire presenting a threat to begin with.  They began to shout orders at each other, in a miasma of chaos as they attempted to recover and deal with the newcomer. 

Idrisar somersaulted over one shooter’s head as he fired at him, landing directly behind one of the other mercenaries.  Another one went down, shot by a bullet meant for the agent.  The man beside the victim launched an impressive knife attack at Idrisar, but the lifebearer parried it and caught his wrist with one hand, twisting it to disarm him.  The human mercenary had time to see a pair of pale blue eyes glaring at him from beneath dark locks of shiny hair, before the swipe of razor-sharp claws cut his face to ribbons and blinded him. 

"It’s a fucking _Ulvari_!” shouted one of the sires after witnessing the attack.  “Stay out of close combat!”

"Yeah, you _do_ that,” muttered Zevian as he drew a gun with his right hand and a sword with his left.  He shot the announcer in the foot as the man tried to put some distance between himself and Idrisar. 

"Oh _my_ ,” exclaimed Xellnaise as Idrisar’s booted foot snapped up and flattened a man’s nose right before his eyes. 

The recipient of the kick stumbled backwards with a gloved hand pressed over his bleeding, broken nose and he tried to take aim with his gun. 

"No, I can’t let you do that," insisted Xellnaise. 

He conjured a bolt of energy that made his silvery hair fluff up with static electricity and he shocked the man right off his feet.  He didn’t have time to bask in his success, because Idrisar suddenly tackled him.  A bullet whizzed overhead, striking the pillar behind where Xellnaise’s head had been just a second ago.

"Thank you," he grunted at the Ulvari suddenly on top of him. 

Idrisar rolled off of him wordlessly and got to his feet.  To Xellnaise, it looked like he was dancing and it took him a moment to realize he was dodging more bullets.  He crawled behind a crate for cover and he dug his own gun out of its holster at his hip—though in truth, he was a lousy shot.  He could see Zevian a few feet away and his performance was almost as impressive as his Ulvari companion’s was.  The dull light streaking in through the high, small windows glinted off his sword as he spun it to block an incoming knife attack from one of their enemies.  He shot the man in the throat and rolled behind another pillar to avoid a bullet from another attacker. 

"Blackbird, take cover," warned Zevian a moment later, and he chucked something small, rectangular and silver into the midst of their enemies.  Xellnaise couldn’t be sure, but he thought it looked like a compact ion grenade.

Idrisar leaped away, bounding up onto a stack of crates as nimbly as a cat.  Xellnaise heard a high-pitched sound coming from the object and he ducked behind his crates hastily and covered his ears.  The hollow bang that went off wasn’t particularly loud, but the floor trembled with a shockwave and Xellnaise was treated to the interesting sight of a man flying over his head limply, like a rag doll tossed away by a careless child.  He heard more thumps as other bodies hit the floor, followed by groans of pain and hollers of alarm. 

Less than half of their attackers were still standing, now.  What was happening outside was still up for debate, however.

* * *

 

_Meanwhile, at the Spirit Keeper temple on the Chalice:_

"I’ve recovered some of the lost data," announced the Ulvari hacking specialist, "but there isn’t much here that can help your case, Director.  There’s a date of anointing and a date of ‘death’, along with a report suggesting your suspect wasn’t the ideal candidate for being a proper spirit singer.  He was unstable, according to this.  Have a look."

Ammiteo bent over to peer at the computer screen over the other sire’s shoulder.  “Hmm, you’re right.  There isn’t anything very helpful there.  I can’t say I’m surprised.”

The other Ulvari associate came into the office and cleared his throat to get their attention.  “Excuse the interruption, but one of the anointed has asked to speak with you alone, Director.  He admits to having recent contact with your suspect and I think he has news for you.  He’s waiting for you in the courtyard garden.  His name is Matthias.  You can’t miss him; he’s the only lifebearer on the grounds and he’s waiting by the fish pond.”

It was on the tip of Ammiteo’s tongue to thank the forests, but he didn’t allow his pent-up frustration to show.  This manhunt had wreaked havoc on everyone’s nerves and he was tired of running into dead ends, while the bodies piled up.  “Excuse me,” he said to the hacker. 

He left the other two agents alone to meet up with the spirit singer in the courtyard.  He passed a couple of other spirit singers on the way out and he gave them nods of respect.  He wondered what it was like to hear the voices of lashran long dead and to wield their supernatural power like magic.  On the one hand it seemed like a gift, but on the other, a burden.  He thought of the times Agent Glaive had to take a sick day because the spirit voices were so intense they interfered with his thought processes and gave him migraines.  He decided he didn’t envy them.

He located the archway leading into the garden courtyard and he found the spirit singer in question sitting on his knees by the fishpond.  He was wearing white robes and his blond hair was woven into a long braid that fell to his mid-back.  He was staring into the water as if searching for answers to a riddle, and he gave a start when the Ulvari director approached and cleared his throat.

"I’m sorry for startling you," apologized Ammiteo.  "I was told you had some information for me regarding Tsyther."

"Yes," answered the lifebearer, speaking the Zarnian dialect of lashran.  "Please, sit and talk with me."  He didn’t look or sound particularly happy, as if the information he wished to impart was a great burden on him. 

Ammiteo politely obliged the request, sinking down to his knees in the grass beside the spirit singer.  Matthias looked at him with melancholy, violet eyes and he tucked a loose strand of hanging hair behind his hoop-bedecked, rounded ear.  “Where to begin,” he sighed.

"You don’t have to tell me any of the personal details concerning your relationship with this man," Ammiteo encouraged gently.  "The only information I ask for is that which could lead me and my people to apprehending him.  He’s a very dangerous man, as I’m sure you know."

"He is," agreed Matthias, lowering his eyes to the water again.  "And that is why I’m choosing to talk to you.  I don’t want more people to get hurt.  I know Tsyther has to be stopped."

The afternoon sunlight reflected on the surface of the pond, casting the lifebearer’s face in golden light.  He wasn’t beautiful the way Idrisar and Azurel were, but he had gently attractive features and a nice voice.  Ammiteo silently wondered if he had some kind of romantic relationship with Sandman, but he wasn’t going to press him. 

"Matthias," murmured the director when his companion seemed to struggle with words.  "That’s an interesting name for a lashran."

"My sire likes Avran names," replied Matthias softly, giving a reserved little smile.  "He talked my father into giving me one."

"I see," answered Ammiteo.  "It’s a nice name."

"Thank you."  Matthias reached out and traced patterns over the watery surface with his fingertips, and a couple of fish swam over curiously to nip at them.  "I met Tsyther while I was training.  He had a lot of pent up frustration with the world and he had been without guidance for longer than recommended.  I…felt sorry for him.  He didn’t get along with anyone but he didn’t seem to mind me.  I don’t know that Tsyther would ever truly call anyone ‘friend’, but I think I would be counted as one if he did.  You aren’t here to listen to stories of how we met and how I gained the affection of a man who hates the world, though."

Ammiteo stayed silent, letting the lifebearer take it at his own pace.  Matthias sighed again and sat on his bottom, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.  “Tsyther never finished his training here.  He decided he’d had enough and he left one day.  I remained here, choosing to spend my life helping others with the gift of the spirits learn how to control it.  Tsyther contacted me now and then, checking in on me and informing me of how he was doing.  I remember him saying he had taken in some of his own pupils, training them in ways the Ulvari and Spirit Keepers couldn’t—or so he claimed.  I did not ask for details, because I was afraid to hear them.”

He looked sidelong at Ammiteo.  “For a while, I didn’t hear more from him…and then one day, nearly thirty years ago, we got word that he was killed in an explosion on Oricus island.  Our investigations revealed massive amounts of both ethereal and elemental energy lingering around the site of the explosion—which suggested it was a result of spirit singing gone out of control.  The authorities found and identified his body, but I didn’t _feel_ it.  I felt around for his spirit and I could find nothing, so I did not believe he was dead.”

"And he eventually contacted you again?" guessed Ammiteo.

"He did," agreed Matthias.  "More than two decades after the explosion that reportedly killed him.  His injuries were so severe that he’d slipped into a healing trance for years and when he came back out, it took a further two years for him to regain his strength and coordination again.  When we last talked, he spoke of vengeance against people who he felt had wronged him.  Here…I have a list of names."

He reached into a pocket in his robes and he produced a rolled up piece of paper, which he handed over to the sire.  Ammiteo unrolled it and scanned the list of names with a frown.  He felt the warmth go out of the air as he realized that each and every one of them were Sandman’s victims.  Most of them were Zarn residents, but a couple died in Rhuidhim and three were killed in Avras.  Not all of his victims were on this list, however, including his two most recent kills in Valkyrie Falls.  Thankfully, Dr. Adder’s name didn’t appear on the list either, so it seemed reasonable to presume Sandman really did go after him strictly for money.

"These are all past murder victims of his," muttered Ammiteo.  "We assumed they were all contracts he’d taken.  He killed these men for a vendetta?"

"They are _all_ dead, then?”  Matthias seemed dismayed.  “I had hoped…but I should have known better.  Tsyther never just _talks_ about doing something.  I suppose this is why he didn’t give me their names until he’d already killed them.  He must have known I would eventually tell someone.  Oh, _why_ did I wait?”

Ammiteo reached out to pat him comfortingly on the shoulder.  “From what you’ve just told me, it wouldn’t have made a difference if you had shared this information with someone the moment you received it.  Those people were already dead.  Clearly Tsyther’s trust only goes so far.”

"But I should have notified the order sooner," murmured Matthias.  "If only to help authorities track him down faster.  I was…torn.  I care for him and I didn’t want to be the one to betray him, when I’m one of the only souls he confides in."

"There’s nothing you can do about that now," said Ammiteo.  "But you _can_ help us capture him now and stop his madness.  Did he give you any hint of his future plans when you last spoke to him?  Can you think of any other people he may feel deserve his wrath?”

"Yes, actually.  He said he was passing through Valkyrie Falls and he found some work there.  He was planning to move on to another location after earning some money, but he found out that someone else he was looking for lived there.  He did not give me a name, but he told me that he was the one that nearly killed him in the explosion on Oricus.  Tsyther wants a special revenge against him."

"I see."  Ammiteo turned the information over in his mind.  "You said the explosion was suspected to be caused by spirit singing gone awry, and one of my men told me he had a witness claiming to have seen Tsyther fighting with another spirit singer that day.  I think it’s safe to conclude that his target in Valkyrie Falls has spirit singing abilities."

"He would have to be powerful," reminded Matthias, "to have gone against him.  Tsyther never completed proper training, but he has plenty of raw power at his disposal and he knows how to use it.  Do you have many spirit singers in your city, Director Ammiteo?"

"I can think of at least one," answered Ammiteo, more to himself than to the lifebearer, "but he can’t be connected.  I’ll have to have my people back at headquarters run a search.  If we can find this man he’s after, we can protect him and perhaps he in turn can help us capture the suspect."

"I fear you won’t have much luck capturing him," sighed Matthias.  "Tsyther is too far gone, Director.  He’s taken a path that led him into madness and he’s like a wounded, rabid animal now.  He won’t allow himself to be captured."

"Then we may have to put him down," said Ammiteo grimly.  Thinking of his family ties to Zevian and Idrisar’s obvious affection for the mafia lord, he sighed.  It was so much easier to contemplate putting Sandman down when he didn’t have to think of him as someone’s parent. 

"I wish it wouldn’t come to that," Matthias said sincerely.  He dipped a bare toe into the pond.  "But Tsyther may force your hand.  I’m sure your people will do their best to resolve this without bloodshed, but I won’t dare to hope it will end peacefully."

Helpless to think of anything else to say, Ammiteo got back to his feet and gave the spirit singer a respectful bow.  “Thank you for your help, Matthias.  I’ll be sure to send word when this is all over with…however it ends.”      

* * *

 

_Valkyrie Falls, 6:32 A.M.:_

"Go back the other way!" 

Haden skidded to a halt at the Bargel operative’s warning shout.  Agent Rose had conjured a glittering shield around herself that resembled a nacreous bubble and she looked up at the building rooftops with narrowed, blue-gray eyes.

Haden looked around, wondering where his partner and the others were.  They had split up to pursue the fleeing suspect and keep him in sight, since he traveled with such unbelievable speed and tended to vanish when they got too close to him.  Haden started to turn and do as the woman said, but he caught a glimpse of a black-clad figure jumping across the rooftops overhead and he immediately took aim and fired.  Sandman dodged the bullets and turned to regard the augmented knight below with narrowed, glittering eyes.  He held his hands out to the sides and then brought them together abruptly, a frightful bellow issuing from his throat.

"Wolfe, look _out_ ,” warned Rose in a shout, “He’s about to—”

There was an ominous grating sound, like a giant chewing boulders.  The ground buckled beneath Haden’s feet as if in an earthquake and before his startled eyes, the concrete broke apart and a wave of earth closed in on him.  The ground seemed to explode all around him and it was only his quick feet that saved him from being caught up in the unexpected quake.  Agent Rose was protected by her shield and the spot she was standing on seemed to be the only bit of calm pavement on the street.  Haden dove down an alley when he realized the seismic activity was localized to the street he was on.  The tremors died down after he dove out of sight and he caught his breath and swallowed, feeling like his heart was pounding in his throat.

"Agent Rose, you okay?" He shouted. 

 ”I’m fine,” she announced, “but I lost sight of our suspect.”

Haden started to go back onto the now-ruined street, bewildered by the devastation the man had caused with just _one_ attack.  The air was thick with dust and he coughed into a gloved fist, narrowing his eyes against the hovering particles.  A black form dropped down in front of him before he could take more than two steps and Haden stared into Sandman’s cold, serpentine eyes, understandably startled.

"Agent Wolfe," greeted the suspect in his low, abrasive voice. 

Haden sensed the attack coming just in time to dodge it.  The sire’s blade sang as it swished through the empty air and Haden hopped back out of its reach and took aim with his gun.  “Did you think I’d be that easy?”  He didn’t bother asking how the man knew his name.

"You’re fast…for a human," murmured Sandman.  He tilted his head and drew his second long sword.  "But are you fast _enough_?  Did the taint they put in you make you as quick on your feet as a pureblood?” 

Hearing the psychopath discuss his augmentation was disconcerting, but Haden knew better than to let it distract him.  “I think the question you should ask is how many of my bullets can you dodge, pal?  Let’s find out.”

He unleashed a hail of said bullets, almost before he finished speaking.  Ordinarily, he would have aimed to wound a suspect in the hopes of bringing them in alive.  With Sandman, however, aiming to wound wasn’t an option.  The man was as skilled as an Ulvari at defying physics and avoiding all manner of attacks, so aiming to kill was the only chance he had of incapacitating him.

Sandman spun his swords with blinding speed and Haden could hear the ring of metal on metal as the weapons deflected some of the slugs that the sire couldn’t avoid completely.  Guessing they must be made of tempered lutanium to be strong enough to deflect bullets, Haden swore and pressed on grimly.  He closed in on the other man as he fired at him, well aware that he would soon run out of bullets.  He just needed to get close enough to disarm him, if possible.  He saw Rose come up behind Sandman from the street and his confidence increased as the woman began to cast a spell. 

Sandman seemed to sense it though, and he glanced over his shoulder at her and said something in the lashran tongue.  Agent Rose staggered and put a hand to her head, stubbornly clinging to consciousness as the spirit singer’s insidious powers wove through her and tried to lull her to sleep.  She spoke into her transmitter as she sank to her knees, reporting her location to their allies before she succumbed to the suspect’s will.

"So easy," muttered the Sandman.  His gaze returned to Haden and narrowed, "Except for you.  I know who I can thank for that, too."

Haden ran out of bullets, but he was close enough to attack bodily, now.  He kicked out quickly while his opponent was still on the defensive and he managed to knock one of the swords out of his hands.  Sandman retaliated immediately and Haden dropped a gun and caught his wrist before he could complete the attack, halting his blade in mid-swing and stopping it from slicing into his side.  As it was, he could feel the sting of it against his skin as the razor-sharp blade cut open his shirt, just below the body armor protecting his most vital areas.  The man was precise, he had to give him that.

"Can’t let you do that, man," grunted Haden, holding those angry, green-gold eyes with his.  He head-butted the sire in his masked face, making him stagger and lose his hold on the sword.  The weapon clattered to the ground and Sandman looked at the human agent with an almost comical expression of umbrage in his eyes. 

"That…was _rude_ ,” growled the assassin. 

He made a gesture at Haden and the next thing the knight knew, he felt something _hit him_ in the solar plexus and he flew backwards, dropping his other gun in the process.  The impact of him hitting the concrete knocked out what little breath was left in him, and his opponent was upon him again before Haden could recover enough to reach for one of his alternative weapons.  Sandman kicked him in the stomach and as the knight curled instinctively into a fetal position, he followed up with a kick to the face that knocked one of Haden’s teeth loose.  The knight groaned as his attacker grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled him to his feet, only to follow up with a punch that damned near broke his jaw. 

"If it’s a brawl you desire," said the Sandman, "I’m happy to oblige."  He drove his knee into Haden’s ribs and then he slammed him bodily into the wall of the nearby building, pinning him there by the back of his neck. 

Haden’s vision was going black around the edges and he grunted with effort as he tried to break the other man’s hold.  He cried out unwillingly as his right arm was twisted painfully and pinned behind his back.  His opponent’s hot breath fanned the back of his neck and ear as the Sandman spoke to him. 

"I wonder if you could deliver a message to Agent Glaive for me, little human."

Fearlessly—or perhaps a little foolishly—Haden played along.  “Sure,” he grunted, “What’s the message?”

Sandman twisted his arm tighter and the knight bit his lip until it bled to stifle the cry of pain trying to break free.  “Tell him that his master isn’t pleased at all.  Tell him it’s long past time to repent.”

"Unh…right.  Unhappy master…repent…got it.  I’ll be sure to…give him the memo."

The contract killer chuckled darkly.  “Not much frightens you, does it, knight?  Glaive has surrounded himself with formidable allies, but it’s all in vain.  I will have my vengeance.”  He put even more pressure on Haden’s arm and this time, the knight couldn’t hold back a groan of agony as his shoulder dislocated from the punishment.  “Hmm, now that I think of it, I have a much better way for you to deliver my message—as a corpse.”

"Why don’t you give me the message yourself?" Demanded a familiar, welcome voice from the other side of the alley.  "Or are you too cowardly to do that…Mentor?"

Haden turned his head as much as his pinned position would allow and he saw Glaive standing there at the alley entrance opposite to the one Agent Rose lay passed out.  His coral eyes were glowing furiously and he had a knife in each hand, ready to throw at the slightest provocation. 

"I know how you move," warned Glaive when Sandman looked at him.  "And I won’t miss a second time, now that I know who you really are.  Let him go."

Sandman roughly turned Haden around and kept one hand on his throat.  He seemed to consider the demand for a moment, his gaze sweeping Glaive up and down with an intensity that made Haden’s skin crawl.  He released the knight and stepped back, bowing slightly to his Ulvari challenger.  “Very well.  He’s free to go.  I can finish this another time.”

"No," snapped Glaive, "We’re finishing this right now, you and I.  Haden, get out of here."

"Nuh-uh," refused the knight stubbornly, wiping blood from his mouth and nose.  "I’m not leaving you alone with this psycho."

"Aren’t you the loyal one?"  Sandman’s rough voice was amused and his eyes flicked between Haden and Glaive.  "Pity he doesn’t deserve such blind devotion, Agent.  This man is a turncoat…a back-stabber.  Your loyalty to him will be your death, one way or the other."

"I don’t owe any allegiance to you, Mentor," Glaive said in a low, dangerous tone.  "Haden, go _now_.  This is going to get ugly, and I can’t concentrate if I have to worry about protecting you.”

"Who says you need to protect me?" coughed the knight.  He looked at Sandman and struggled to stay on his feet.  "I’m ready to throw down."

"Are you?"  Sandman’s gaze was amused. 

Before either agent could react, he conjured a gust that knocked Haden off his feet again and he dove and rolled for his swords.  Glaive intercepted before he could stab the human, summoning a gust of his own to shove the other spirit singer back.  Sandman caught his balance quickly and countered the attack, dissipating the gust before launching a spinning attack at Glaive with his swords.  The lishere parried one hit and dodged another, forced onto the defensive.  Groaning in pain, Haden reached for his transmitter with his good arm and called for backup, keeping one eye on the battle being waged a few feet away from him.  He spotted one of his discarded guns and he crawled over to it, favoring the arm with the dislocated shoulder. 

"You remember how your family treated you, Glaive?"  Tsyther attacked and defended alternately, seeking openings in Glaive’s defenses even as he warded off the lishere’s hits.  "They wanted you to have your ears surgically cropped and live as a lifebearer.  The whole world wants you to pretend to be something you aren’t.  I gave you purpose, and just look at how strong you are today because of it."

"You gave me suffering," countered Glaive, "and my strength has nothing to do with what you put me through."

"So you say."  Tsyther found and opening and his boot connected with Glaive’s jaw, making him stagger and nearly fall.  "But none of that matters, now."

Sandman tore his mask off and Haden looked up to see a horribly scarred face.  Glaive paused and stared as well, even as he righted himself and got into a defensive stance. 

"I.  Owe.  You." 

The hatred in Tsyther’s gaze was like acid.  He looked at Haden again, just as the knight drew on him and prepared to fire.  Sandman started to make a gesture that probably wouldn’t bode well for the knight, but Lily and Malcolm came around the corner at that moment and as soon as they saw the scene, they took aim at the rogue spirit singer and shouted demands for him to drop his weapons and surrender.

"It seems I’ll have to put this off, for now."  Tsyther’s eyes flashed and before any of the agents could fire on him, a dark cloud formed from out of nowhere, turning day into night within the alley and obscuring everyone’s vision so completely, they could barely see a foot in front of them. 

Glaive dispersed the dark fog with a gust of conjured wind through the alley, but Sandman was gone already.  The lishere cursed and the others looked around, but there was no sign of the suspect.  Now that the excitement was over, Haden started to get back to his feet and he impulsively cried out as his motions shifted his dislocated shoulder.  Glaive seemed to forget his fury in the face of the knight’s pain and he immediately went to Haden’s side to help him. 

"Collect Agent Rose and contact the others," Glaive instructed grimly.  "I’m taking Agent Wolfe to the hospital.  Inform Kent of what happened here and let him know that I have new information regarding this case."

"Right," agreed Lily with a nod, while Malcolm gathered the unconscious Bargel sorceress into his arms.  "Hang in there, Haden."

"I’m not dying," protested the brunet in a strained voice as his partner helped him to his feet and supported him with an arm around his waist.  "I’m just…a little broken right now.  They’ll pop things back into place, I’ll trance and I’ll be as good as new in a couple of days."

"He fucked you up pretty good," said Malcolm unapologetically. 

"Yeah," admitted Haden with a sigh.  "But now I’ve got an idea of how he fights.  It’ll go better next time."

"I don’t want there to _be_ a ‘next time’, mate,” Glaive muttered for Haden’s ears alone.  “You heard him.  He wants to make me suffer and the best way to do that would be to take you away from me.”

Haden swallowed and shut his eyes against a wave of dizziness.  “Glaive, when I’m feeling better, I think we should talk.”

"We will," promised the lishere.  "After I give my report and you’ve been seen to."

People were standing around exclaiming over the state of the street, when the agents emerged from the alley.  A couple of witnesses to the event were describing what they saw to curious onlookers and a press van pulled up to the curb.  The agents quickly left the scene, in no mood or condition to answer questions.

* * *

 

_Azirus, 4:18 P.M.:_

"Is that the last of them?"  Zevian looked around at the bodies strewn about the dusty floor and he deftly flipped his gun in his right hand before holstering it. 

"All that’s left in here," agreed Idrisar, peering around with narrowed eyes.  There were faint groans of protest from several of the mercenaries that were still conscious.  Only a couple had been killed in the attack, thanks to Idrisar’s finesse.  "Stay here and watch them, while I see what’s going on out there.  It sounds like the fight has died down—which could be good or bad.  Stay alert."

Zevian nodded.  “Be careful, Blackbird.”

"Of course."  Idrisar spared a little smirk over his shoulder at him.  "I’m not _you_.”

Zevian cracked a grin in response and shook his head.  He watched the lifebearer go and he sighed, unable to avoid looking at that tight little ass—so nicely displayed in the snug outfit.  Now wasn’t the time to be thinking of how much he would like to squeeze those firm, round cheeks.  He glanced around to be sure all their “friends” were sufficiently subdued and then he looked at Xellnaise, eyeing him up and down for signs of injury. 

"Are you all right?"

Xellnaise parted his lips to answer, but then Idrisar must have done something that fascinated him, because he stared in the direction of the retreating agent.  Zevian turned to see what the matter was and he found no sign of Idrisar.  Unsurprised, he shrugged and turned back to his companion. 

"Answer me, Quartz.  Are you hurt or anything?"

The silver-haired sire gave a little start and looked at Zevian as if just now realizing he was standing there.  “Oh, I’m all right.  Just a bit shaken up.  Did you _see_ what your friend just did?  He scaled those crates like they were nothing and he vanished into the air vent.  How does he move that way, without the benefit of magic?”

Amused by the other sire’s almost child-like fascination with Idrisar’s grace and skill, he chuckled.  “That’s what Ulvari are trained to do.  You know that.  You read.”

"Yes, but I thought most of that was just exaggeration," sighed Xellnaise.  "I’m not sure I like the thought of that fellow going out there by himself, Ulvari or not.  Leaving a lifebearer to face danger while we stay behind leaves a sour taste in my mouth."

"Don’t worry about him," advised Zevian.  "Trust me, you’ll just give yourself an ulcer over nothing.  Worry about checking your weapons and figuring out what kind of spells you’ll use if we get into another fix.  Keep an eye on these clowns, too.  I’m going to try and contact my men while—"

His phone rang just as Zevian started pulling it out of his pocket, and he damned near threw it into the air with surprise.  He brought it to his ear and answered it hastily.  “Johnny?  What the hell’s going on out there?”

"It’s all under control now, boss," answered the human.  "Adam got shot in the leg, though.  Poor kid’s going to need a doctor when we leave here.  We held ‘em off until the rest of our people got here and they helped us bring them down.  That was good thinking, having our extra men waiting on standby.  It probably saved our asses.  Are you guys okay in there?"

"We’re fine," answered Zevian.  Remembering that Xellnaise’s men were traitors, he thought it prudent to ask on the status of the other one.  "Is Mr. Quartz’ other escort still out there with you?"

"Yes sir."  

"Then disarm him, cuff him and bring him in here.  A dozen men ambushed us in here and Xellnaise’s bodyguard tried to force our cooperation.  The other one is in on it too."

Idrisar dropped down out of the vent at that moment and he gave Zevian a nod to confirm that it was all under control outside.

* * *

 

"Holy _shit_ ,” Johnny exclaimed as the doors opened and he and the other men entered the warehouse.  “What the hell happened in here?”

“ _He_ happened,” Zevian said dryly, gesturing at their Ulvari companion.

Idrisar looked up from the cellular phone he was fiddling with, before glancing around.  “You’re responsible for half of this, Saber.  I can’t take _all_ the credit.”

Xellnaise approached the cuffed bodyguard that Zevian’s people brought in with them and he frowned at him, shaking his head.  “Why, Quinn?  Wasn’t I generous enough to you and Trieden?  Haven’t I always been a fair employer?”

The guard had the grace to look a bit shamed.  “It wasn’t anything personal, Mr. Quartz.  I can’t speak for Trieden, but I got into some bad debt and I was desperate for cash.  It was you or me and I’ve got a family of my own to feed.”

Xellnaise sighed heavily and shook his head.  “Tragic.  Well, your gambling problems don’t excuse nearly getting me killed, I’m afraid.  You’ll be picked up with the rest of these fools and charged with the kidnapping and attempted murder of two island lords.  Not even the authorities on the Chalice can ignore that.”

He turned to Zevian with an expression of mixed hope and resolve.  “I suppose you have matters of your own to attend, Mr. Saber.”

Zevian grimaced, feeling for the man as a parent, himself.  Regardless of some of the things they both did for a living, they were still people with feelings and family was very important to guild lords—even ones such as L’daris.

"I’ll tell you what I’ll do," Zevian said after some thought, "I’ll send you some of my people to help you resolve this shit and get your little girl back."  He looked at Idrisar.  "I’m afraid I’ve tapped out my resources here, so I’ll be returning with you to Valkyrie Falls to do what I can to help track down Tsyther there.  Do you have any objections to that?"

"None at all," assured Idrisar.  "I suspected we were coming to a dead end here, but you seemed so determined.  Ah, finally…reception.  Excuse me."  The Ulvari walked away to call his superior, while the two guild lords regarded each other again.

"You’ll really lend me some of your people while you’re away?"  Xellnaise looked warily grateful. 

"I can do that," agreed Zevian.  "I’ve got a problem with people dragging kids into shit like this.  If I didn’t have my own issues to deal with, I’d be helping you out personally."

"I’ll see what I can do about arranging some assistance from the Ulvari-vash," Idrisar called, overhearing the conversation.  "They may only give you one agent, but it would be something, at least."

"Thank you both," Xellnaise said sincerely.  He cleared his throat and looked away.  "Ah, sorry.  I just keep thinking of little Whitney in those uncouth cutthroats’ hands and it just…I can hardly bear it."

Zevian patted him on the shoulder, wincing a little at the sting in his side.  “At least you know they aren’t likely to hurt her.”

* * *

 

After finishing his call with Ammiteo, Idrisar took Zevian aside and shared the information he’d just gotten.  “It turns out most of the people your sire has killed over the past couple of years were people he had a grudge against,” finished Idrisar after relaying the details to him.  “And he’s after someone in Valkyrie Falls.  I’m sure that’s why he’s staying put.  According to previous investigative files my guild retrieved on him, Sandman usually doesn’t stay in one area for very long.  Up until now, he was very nomadic and now we know why.”

"He was tracking down these people, all over Wyndrah," finished Zevian grimly.  "It doesn’t surprise me at all.  So, who’s so important in Valkyrie Falls for him to risk getting caught, after all this time?"

"We don’t know yet," replied the agent, glancing around with watchful blue eyes, "but if we can get him into protective custody, we may have an edge.  According to the contact my director spoke with, Sandman is obsessed with ‘punishing’ this person.  He’s allegedly responsible for the explosion that convinced everyone Tsyther was dead.  Supposedly, it injured him badly enough to keep him out of commission for years and now he wants revenge.  Zevian, do you have _any_ idea who this mystery person could be?  Any at all?”

Zevian shook his head.  “No, sorry.  I wish I could give you something but…unh…” He pressed a hand against his side and staggered a little, revealing that he was injured. 

Idrisar looked at the spot he was holding with a frown and when he saw the red blossom on the tan shirt, he put an arm around the taller man and helped him over to a crate.  “Sit down and let me look at that,” he ordered sternly.

"It just grazed me," protested the sire.  He smirked with amusement as Idrisar examined the hole in his shirt and then tugged the garment out of his pants to lift it up.  "You just want to get me undressed."

Idrisar didn’t smile and when he glanced up at him, Zevian detected a spark of concern in his eyes.  Impulsively, he reached out to stroke the lifebearer’s dark bangs away from his eyes.  “If it was serious, I would have said something.”

Idrisar looked down and he moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue in an unconscious gesture.  “I’ll be the judge of how serious it is.  Be still.” 

He carefully lifted the shirt and Zevian resisted a wince as the material stuck to the wound a little before pulling away.  Idrisar inspected it and he nodded.  “Hold the shirt up, please.”

Zevian did as he asked and he watched as he retrieved a cloth kit of some kind from a pocket in the shoulder of his uniform.  “Hmph…you’ve got all sorts of hidden nooks in that tight getup, don’t you?”

Idrisar smirked.  “You would be amazed.”  He set the kit on the crate, opened it up and retrieved a slim little tube of some kind of medicine.  “Here, this may sting a little.”  

He didn’t really give Zevian time to brace.  He squirted the clear liquid directly onto the gash and the sire yelped like a child, ambushed by the sharp burn of antiseptic.  Idrisar glanced up, pausing in the process of opening a clean wipe.  “I _told_ you it would sting.”

Zevian cleared his throat and schooled his features as some of his men looked over and chuckled with amusement.  He looked down and watched as the lifebearer cleaned the wound as best he could with what he had and then broke open another tube of mystery liquid.

"Whoa…what is that?" demanded Zevian. 

"It’s a sealant," explained Idrisar with another amused glance at him.  "A liquid bandage.  It will keep it from bleeding and keep the germs out until you can have it properly looked at.  Now be still and let me finish."

Zevian tried to keep a straight face as the lifebearer saw to his injury.  “Do you _always_ treat grown sires like kids, or is it just the ones you’re attracted to?”

Idrisar didn’t pause.  “When you act like kids, I treat you accordingly.”  He finished applying the sealant and he gently blew on the spot, giving rise to goose bumps.  “There.  That should do, for now.  Next time, don’t try to be macho and risk an infection.”

"Or what, you’ll send me to my room?"

Idrisar’s lips twitched briefly and he patted him on the side of the face.  “You’re pushing it, Saber.”

* * *

 

-To be continued 


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

_Oricus island, 6:23 P.M.:_

With the exception of Adam, Johnny, Vylden and Therril, Zevian left his men behind with Xellnaise to assist in dealing with the Rippers and get his daughter back.  Johnny stayed with Adam at the hospital while he was getting the bullet extracted from his leg and the two of them would return home once the younger man was released.  After returning to Oricus, Zevian dropped off Idrisar at his home, so that he could meet up with Ammiteo and prepare to travel back to Avras in the morning.  As for Zevian himself, he had business to take care of before he finished the day.  He took Vylden and Therril with him and he returned to his club to arrange how business was going to be run while he was away.  He decided to leave Vylden in charge while he was gone and to take Johnny and Therril with him.  He intended to leave Azurel in charge of the club itself, but he wasn’t around and nobody could tell Zevian where he went. 

Putting his vague worry on the back burner, Zevian left to conclude his business for the day.  He had his driver take him to the cemetery and he instructed his bodyguards to wait in the car while he paid his respects to his deceased mate, one last time before leaving the island.  After what happened on Azirus just hours ago, they were understandably reluctant to leave his side, but he was adamant.

"Not even L’daris has the balls to make a move against a man paying respects to the deceased," insisted Zevian, "and I can’t talk to Urahis with you two hanging over my shoulder.  Just give me a few minutes alone with him, all right?"

The two sire gangsters glanced at each other grimly, but they nodded in accord, too respectful of their boss to argue further with him.  Zevian exited the vehicle and walked the path to the hill and the huge tree overlooking his mate’s grave.  As he approached, he saw someone kneeling before Urahis’ grave and he frowned, increasing his pace.  He started to reach for his guns impulsively, but as he drew near, he recognized the long, flowing hair and that tight little ass, covered with sky blue silk.  He stopped behind the lifebearer, more puzzled than angry, now that he knew it wasn’t some punk trying to desecrate his beloved’s resting place.  Azurel had placed a single white lily on the headstone and he knelt quietly before it, as if meditating or deep in thought.   

"What are you doing here?"

Azurel gasped and twisted to his feet, looking at Zevian with alarmed ruby eyes.

"Easy," advised the guild lord when the young man drew a knife that was hidden in the folds of his clothing.  "It’s me."

The entertainer put the weapon away and visibly relaxed, though he regarded Zevian guiltily.  “Please don’t be angry with me.”

Zevian understood why he might think that way.  He was very protective of Urahis’ grave, just as he had been of him in life.  With the exception of his son, he didn’t like other people hanging around it.  Azurel had done nothing wrong, though.  He shook his head and propped his sunglasses on his head to gaze into Azurel’s worried eyes. 

"I’m not mad at you.  Just tell me why you’re here, gorgeous."

Azurel bit his lip and looked at the grave.  “I was paying my respects,” he answered softly.  “You weren’t supposed to come here today.  You usually come here on a schedule.”  He almost sounded accusing.

Zevian’s mouth twitched and he pressed his fingertips against his lips to control it.  “I see.  Well, excuse me for the unscheduled appointment.”  He looked at the lily, then back at Azurel.  “How often do you do this?”

Azurel shrugged modestly, lowering his gaze.  “Once a month or so.”

"Really?"  Zevian’s eyebrows went up.  "So _you’re_ the one who’s always leaving that mystery flower.  I’ve been wondering about that for a while, but I reckoned it wasn’t harming anything, so I haven’t had it investigated.  I just assumed it was the grounds keeper, since he knew Urahis before he died.”

Azurel shrugged again, looking quite shy—an odd thing for a person that used to whore for a living.  “You don’t mind?”

Zevian stepped closer, tilting his head.  “No, but I’m curious.  Why do you do this, Azurel?  You never met Urahis.”

"No, but I know how important he was to you," answered the lifebearer in a whisper.  He slowly lifted his gaze to meet the mafia lord’s.  "To earn such devotion from a man like you, he must have been something special.  I respect him, and sometimes I ask for his advice…and his blessings."

"Oh?"  Zevian smiled quietly.  "Advice and blessings about what?"  He stroked Azurel’s soft hair fondly. 

Azurel shook his head and lowered his eyes again.  “It isn’t important.  I’ll stop coming, if you want me to.”

Zevian shook his head and his throat tightened a little.  “Nah, you can come as much as you want.  I’m touched by your actions.”  He drew the young man into a loose embrace and planted a kiss on the crown of his head.  “Really touched.  You’re all right, you know that?”

Azurel chuckled unevenly and hugged him around the waist.  “I’m glad.  I didn’t want you to find out, because I wasn’t sure how you’d react.  Thank you for being cool about it, boss.”

Zevian shut his eyes and took a moment to enjoy the feel of the younger lashran in his arms.  He had to admit that Azurel fit nicely against him, and he thought about the things Idrisar had said.  He couldn’t honestly say there wasn’t an attraction here, no matter how uncomfortable Azurel’s youth made him.  He patted the beautiful lifebearer’s back before releasing him. 

"The car is down the hill," Zevian told him.  "Go get in it and wait for me, all right?  I’ll just be a few minutes."

Azurel nodded.  “Yes sir.”

Zevian watched him go and he covertly admired his retreating backside, appreciating the grace of his steps.  Much like Urahis, Azurel possessed an allure that wasn’t quite feminine, yet not quite masculine, either.  Physically, he was the sort of lifebearer that sires like Zevian were drawn to like bees to honey.  He could appear androgynous to some humans with his delicate beauty, but that was a quality many sires—Zevian included—liked in their lifebearers. 

He wasn’t a bit like Idrisar.  The agent’s unique grace was more animalistic, like a great cat.  There was no doubt he was beautiful, but it was a more down to earth beauty, not ethereal like Azurel.  He was sexy without trying to be sexy, he was confident, but not conceited.  Idrisar really wasn’t the sort of lifebearer he normally went for, but his patience, compassion, strength of will and bravery were qualities that made his boyish looks and quiet little smiles intoxicating to Zevian.

That being said, he was undeniably drawn to Azurel, also.  Seeing him kneeling at his mate’s grave like that only reinforced his fondness for the entertainer.  Azurel had a hard life before coming to him and even now, one couldn’t accuse the lifebearer of having it easy.  Despite being mistreated for most of his life, Azurel was a compassionate, caring individual.  He wasn’t a natural fighter, but he had his own brand of inner strength that carried him through life and allowed him to remain a good person at heart, through everything. 

Zevian sighed and he knelt before Urahis’ grave.  “We like him, don’t we?”  He smiled faintly.  “Probably more than we should…or at least, more than _I_ should.  I know you don’t want me to be lonely, baby.  I know you’d want me to have more than meaningless flings to take care of my body’s needs.  I’m also pretty sure you’d approve of both my options.  The problem is, one of them has another interest and the other’s still just a baby.”

He shook his head and dragged his fingers through his hair, tugging loose a few strands from the ponytail.  He rubbed a hand over his face and went silent for a moment, staring at the lashran symbols etched into his mate’s headstone.  “So, what do you think?  Will you be okay with it if I give things a shot with your little friend?”

Sometimes, he wished he _did_ have the ability to hear the voices of the dead, like his sire.  In his heart of hearts, he believed Urahis heard him when he came here to speak with him.  He just wished he could talk back.

"Well," Zevian said after a few moments of silence, "I think I know what your answer would be.  You just want me to be happy again, right?  I can sort this all out later, though.  Right now, I’ve got more immediate problems.  We’ve found him, Urahis.  It’s been confirmed; he’s still alive.  I’m going to be leaving tomorrow and forests willing, I’ll see him put in his grave, the way his actions put you in yours.  I know you don’t approve, but I can’t rest until he pays…biological sire or not.  Wish me luck."

Zevian kissed his fingertips and reached out to touch the gravestone with them, before getting to his feet and straightening his jacket.  He put his shades back over his eyes and he started to walk back to the car, hardly noticing the beauty of the setting sun on the horizon.   

* * *

 

"Where’d _you_ come from?”  Therril eyed the lifebearer with surprise as he got into the car. 

Azurel sat down across from the two sires and shut the door.  “I was here paying my respects,” he answered, giving them both a challenging look that warned he wouldn’t put up with being questioned further.  Therril and Vylden glanced at each other and shrugged in unison. 

Azurel took advantage of the mini cooler, retrieving a wine cooler to drink.  He sipped at it and looked out the window, thinking of his boss up there on the hill, mourning the only lifebearer he was ever likely to love.  Zevian’s son warned him about it, the one time they’d met.  Orindel didn’t seem to dislike him, but he had no compunctions over telling him flat-out that he would probably never be more than a fuck to Zevian if he was foolish enough to sleep with him.  Maybe he was right, but that shadowed corner of hope left in Azurel’s heart still refused to be swept away.

After a while, he spotted Zevian coming down the hill and he watched him with quiet, lovesick eyes.  The guild lord’s handsome bronze features bore an expression of resolve.  His visit to his spouse’s grave seemed to have strengthened his conviction; which was a good thing, as far as Azurel was concerned.  He’d heard about the shoot-up that happened on the other island and he didn’t want Zevian carrying on with this investigation half-assed. 

Azurel scooted over for him when the boss approached and opened the door.  The lifebearer quickly retrieved a bottle of Zevian’s favorite beer from the cooler as he slid onto the seat beside him and shut the door.

"Thanks, flower," Zevian murmured, taking the drink offered to him.  He put an arm around Azurel and took a sip.  "Driver, take us back to the club to drop Azurel off and then to my place.’

"But I want to come home with you," protested Azurel.  He cuddled against the sire, laid his cheek on his shoulder and put an arm around his waist.  "Please?’

Zevian winced and at first, Azurel took it as a sign that he couldn’t stand the thought of bringing him home with him.  Before his feelings could get crushed, he noticed the tear in Zevian’s shirt and he felt something damp against his fingertips.  He lifted his head off of his shoulder and looked with a frown, ignoring Zevian’s attempt to stop him. 

"You’re bleeding."  Azurel tugged the shirt up to look.  "Zevian, why haven’t you been to a medic for this?"

"Now you’re in trouble, boss," chuckled Vylden. 

"Idrisar patched it up," excused Zevian.  "Don’t get worked up over it, Azurel.  It’s just a scratch.  I’ll clean it up again and bandage it at the house and it’ll be gone tomorrow when I wake up."

"Clearly, what Idrisar did was meant to be a quick fix," muttered the lifebearer peevishly.  "I’ll bet if I ask him, Mr. Blackbird will tell me you were supposed to have it looked at by an actual medic before going anywhere.  Well?  Shall I ask him when I see him?"

"What makes you think you’re going to see him?" challenged Zevian.  "We’re heading back to Avras tomorrow and this might be the last time Idrisar ever comes to Zarn."  Behind the shades, there was a playful twinkle in his aqua gaze. 

Azurel wasn’t amused.  He compressed his lips with determination, coming to a decision.  “I’m coming with you.”

Zevian’s amusement visibly faded and his expression hardened.  Across from them, the two sires busied themselves, pointedly staying out of it.  Therril started reading the newspaper stashed in the door pocket and Vylden pretended to check his text messages on his phone. 

"No," Zevian said simply.

"Just like that?"  Azurel sighed.  "You won’t win this one, boss.  I’m coming with you.  You don’t take enough care of yourself…that much is clear."

"It’s just a little—"

“ _Gouge_ ,” finished Azurel for him, his eyes flashing with anger.  “The right side of your shirt is already soaked with blood.  It’s going to get infected before it closes up, if you aren’t careful.  You’d keep going ‘till you bled out, without someone reminding you that you aren’t immortal.  I’m coming with you and that’s final.  Besides, you promised you’d take me to Avras some day, anyhow.”

"This isn’t a sight-seeing tour," growled Zevian in a warning tone.  "I’m going there to track down an extremely dangerous man, and I don’t want you anywhere _near_ him, understand?”

"No, I _don’t_ understand,” argued Azurel.  “It isn’t like I’m going to be in on the investigation!  Why can’t I just stay at your hotel room with you and I’ll go and do touristy things during the day, while you and your Ulvari friends go on your manhunt?”

"Because if he finds out about you, he could try to use you as leverage against me…against _us_.  I don’t want to give him any advantages, so do as your told and stop arguing with me.”

"I’m not completely helpless," persisted the lifebearer stubbornly, his eyes now glowing as brightly as Zevian’s.  "I know how to defend myself!"

"Not against _this_ ,” snapped Zevian.  “You’re not going and that’s the end of it.”

Refusing to back down, Azurel glared right back at him.  “Yes, I am.  You aren’t going to intimidate me into backing down, this time.”

Zevian took a deep, slow breath.  “You’re trying to drive me crazy, aren’t you?”

"I’m trying to watch out for you," corrected the lifebearer, "because obviously you aren’t going to look after yours—"

Zevian closed the distance between their faces abruptly and silenced him in mid-sentence with a firm, almost bruising kiss.  Azurel was shocked to stillness, helplessly confused and thrilled at the same time.  Zevian cupped the back of his head to ensure he couldn’t draw away even if he wanted to and Azurel reacted instinctively, his lips animating against the sire’s.  The pressure of Zevian’s mouth eased up and he softened the kiss, pacified by Azurel’s response.  He brushed his mouth back and forth over the lifebearer’s, kissing and nibbling his lips for a moment before easing his tongue into his mouth.  Un-noticed by either of them, their companions in the other seat stared at them with open surprise. 

Azurel stroked Zevian’s throat and clavicle with deft, sensitive fingertips and a soft whimper of passion arose in his throat.  Zevian’s tongue caressed his and the sire’s chest rose and fell with his quickening breath.  He stroked Azurel’s pale violet hair and purred.  The lazy sensuality of his kiss made Azurel a bit dizzy and he couldn’t believe he’d gone this long without getting a real kiss from the man.  He slid his hand up and he caressed Zevian’s pointed ear with his fingertips, drawing another purr from his throat. 

They might have kept going—if Therril didn’t clear his throat and remind them both that they weren’t alone in the back of the car.  “Um…boss?”

Zevian gave a couple more enticing, slow thrusts with his tongue, traced the edges of Azurel’s teeth and then withdrew.  He swallowed and looked at the other two sires, somehow maintaining a dignified expression—even though his pants were now straining obviously at the crotch. 

Azurel sat there staring at him, looking very much like a ball-joint doll with the blank look of bewilderment on his face. 

"I don’t want you going," Zevian reiterated huskily.  He put an arm around the stunned young man again and he reached for the beer he’d set aside in the drink holder. 

* * *

 

Ammiteo got a call from the knight director as soon as he came into the house, and Idrisar waited in the lounge while he talked to him.  When the conversation was finished, Ammiteo joined his agent in the lounge and he sat down with a frown of puzzled consideration on his chiseled face.  Idrisar watched him quietly, his hair still damp from his shower.  He sipped a cup of tea and waited patiently for the director to speak. 

"Agent Glaive knows the Sandman," Ammiteo finally said.  "He gave a full report this morning, once he was certain of it."

He went on to explain that according to Glaive’s report, Tsyther lured him to his side many years ago, promising acceptance that he would never receive from society.  “He groomed him to be a killer, using tactics not unlike those used by domestic abusers and cult leaders.  Agent Glaive says he had other pupils, but he doesn’t know where they are or if they are even still alive.”

Idrisar frowned as well.  “Why didn’t he ever come forward with this information before?”

Ammiteo sighed and met the lifebearer’s eyes.  “If I were to guess, it’s because he gets enough flack for his racial differences, without giving his peers more ammo to use against him.  He offered the information when it became relevant.  We’ve dealt with cultists before, Agent Blackbird.  Men like Tsyther are responsible for half of the terrorism that occurs on Wyndrah.”

Idrisar’s shock wore off and he nodded in understanding, narrowing his eyes.  “And when men like him find vulnerable, emotionally wounded people like Glaive, they sink their claws in right away.”

"Exactly," agreed Ammiteo.  He looked at the clock on the mantle without really seeing it.  "He’s the one Sandman is sticking around for.  He’s the target and Agent Wolfe was injured pretty badly during an apprehension attempt.  Agent Glaive is convinced that Sandman is going to go after his partner instead of him…to make him suffer." 

Idrisar sighed and rubbed tired eyes, hardly caring that he couldn’t see his companion’s features clearly without his contact lenses in or his glasses on.  “He might have come to us with this information sooner, if he felt he could trust us.  I’m sorry to say I’ve been deliberately blind and deaf to the cruelty I’ve witnessed toward that lishere, Ammiteo.”

The director got out of his chair and joined Idrisar on the antique loveseat.  “I’m more to blame for it than you are.  I’m the director of our department and if anyone should be putting a stop to that sort of behavior, it’s me.  You’ve got enough to deal with, trying to keep everyone in line and teach me how to lead at the same time.” 

He smirked self-depreciatingly as the lifebearer looked at him.  “The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced you’d make a better head of our department than I do.”

"Don’t say that," reprimanded Idrisar.  "You’re a fine leader.  The problem is that the Ulvari department went without a director for too long, after the last one retired.  You can’t bring order out of chaos in a few months, Ammiteo.  It’s going to take time and you need to be patient with yourself.  Don’t expect too much, too soon."

"You see?" prompted the sire, his violet eyes amused.  "You have the experience and the wisdom to come up with a reasonable response to everything.  Forgive me if it’s inappropriate for me to say so, but I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Idrisar smiled, flattered.  “You would pull everyone’s shit together through sheer determination, I’m sure.  You don’t give yourself the credit you deserve, sir.  Even when you aren’t sure what you’re doing, you adapt quickly and you keep your calm.  You’re decisive and I trust your judgment…and your leadership.  I’m a field agent and I would make a horrible director, but you have the qualities of a true leader.  Oh, and for the record—I never give credit where it isn’t due…ask anyone.”

Ammiteo ducked his head in humble acknowledgement.  “I hope your faith in me isn’t misplaced.”

Idrisar’s smile deepened.  He’d said something similar to himself earlier that day, in regards to the director’s faith in him.  “I don’t think my faith is misplaced…Ammiteo.”  Perhaps he shouldn’t address the man casually, but it seemed fitting for the moment.

The sire regarded him quietly for a moment, and then he slowly put his muscular arm on the back of the sofa.  His purple gaze held Idrisar’s and his features softened in a way the lifebearer was familiar with.  He braced himself and he tried to decide what to do if Ammiteo tried to kiss him.

"I admire you so much," admitted the sire.  "I’ve wanted to say so for some time, now.  Idrisar…there’s just something about you that…" He began to close in for a kiss, letting his husky words trail away.

Just like with Zevian earlier that very same day, Idrisar wrestled with himself, feeling like he should put a stop to it before it began, but wanting to know what it would be like to exchange a full-on kiss with the man.  Maybe he really _was_ a horny slut, as L’daris suggested.  His lips were really getting around today. 

Just as Ammiteo’s mouth was about to meet his, Idrisar blurted a laugh.  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he apologized immediately, horrified by the embarrassed look on Ammiteo’s face.  “I wasn’t laughing at you.”

"I shouldn’t have moved in on you like that," Ammiteo muttered, losing his nerve.  "You would have every right to sue me for sexual harassment.  I…please forgive me, Agent Blackbird."      

"W-wait," Idrisar stammered as the sire got up to leave.  He set his cup of tea on the coaster sitting on the coffee table and he started to get up himself, intending to explain his reaction and if he had to, grab the man and finish what he’d started a moment ago.

The front door opened and Zevian called out as he and his companions walked in.  “Honey, we’re home.  What’s for dinner?”

Idrisar and Ammiteo watched as the group entered the lounge room.  Azurel was with them and for some reason he was staring at his boss with dazed confusion in his eyes.  Before Idrisar could even begin to puzzle over it, Zevian’s coat parted with his movements and he spotted the blood staining his shirt.  He frowned at the guild lord with annoyance.  He’d _told_ him to do a more thorough bandaging job on the injury before going out again, but Saber evidently didn’t listen.

"You didn’t have a medic look at it, did you?" demanded Idrisar with a meaningful nod at the shirt. 

Azurel seemed to snap out of his trance and he slapped Zevian gently on the arm.  “I _knew_ it.  I’m going to take care of it myself, as soon as I enlist some help to deal with you.”  He looked at Idrisar.  “Mr. Blackbird, would you please reason with him?  I want to come with you to Avras tomorrow but he won’t let me.”

"It’s too dangerous," Zevian said with a long-suffering sigh.  His aqua gaze swept over the violet-haired lifebearer with an interesting intensity.  "We’ve been through this, love.  I don’t want you anywhere within Tsyther’s reach."

Azurel made a frustrated gesture at the guild lord, as if displaying him for Idrisar’s benefit.  “You see?  He’s being paranoid!  I’ll be in danger here, too.  L’daris wants him dead and _he’s_ just as likely to try and get to me for leverage as Tsyther—more, in fact!”

"He wouldn’t dare," insisted Zevian with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"You mean the way his sire wouldn’t have dared to try and shoot you down in broad daylight, within range of civilians and your spouse?" Idrisar reminded harshly.  The startled look Zevian gave him and the flash of old pain in his eyes made the agent hate himself, but he thought it was important to make his point.  "I’m sorry Zevian, but I’m afraid I side with Azurel on this.  True, Tsyther may try something with him to force your cooperation, but he’s far more likely to go after Agent Wolfe, now."

"Agent…Wolfe?"  Zevian frowned in ignorance. 

"He’s a knight operative," explained Idrisar, "and he’s partnered with one of our Ulvari operatives…who happens to be the spirit singer that injured your sire so badly, years ago.  We just learned a little while ago that he’s the one Tsyther is after and we have every reason to believe he’ll go after his partner first, to make him suffer."

"So _that’s_ who he’s after.  Damn…one of your own agents.”  Zevian sat down in the nearest armchair with a grimace and Vylden went to the liquor cabinet to fix him a drink.  Zevian gave the other sire a nod when he brought a glass of scotch to him.  “Why would he go after his partner, though?  Are they that close?”

Idrisar exchanged a look with Ammiteo.  “Their relationship…extends beyond work.”

Zevian smirked and swirled the amber liquid around in his glass.  “Ah-ha…it’s one of _those_.  Hmph…you’re right.  My old man loves to go for the pain before he goes for the kill.”  He looked up at Azurel, who stood over him expectantly.  “I’m still not letting you come.”

"Even if it means he’ll be where _you_ can keep an eye on him personally?” Idrisar raised a brow.  “Can you be so sure that L’daris won’t try to take him back by force while you’re away?  I seem to recall him having an interest in reclaiming him, when we were negotiating with him for information.”

Zevian was on to him and he narrowed his eyes.  “Ooh, you manipulative little—”

"It is _so_ important to your health that you don’t complete that sentence,” warned Idrisar with a smirk.  “I stand by my opinion.  If you’re that concerned for his safety, he’s better off coming with us.  He can stay in one of the witness protection suites in headquarters with you and we could even assign an Ulvari guard to accompany him when he goes out…couldn’t we, Director?”

Ammiteo looked uncertain.  Idrisar spoke again in a low murmur, urging him with his eyes to agree to it.  “It would put Mr. Saber’s mind at ease and we won’t have every agent out on the field at all times, Sir.”

The director concurred with his idea, after that bit of logic.  “We can arrange that.”

Idrisar looked at Zevian expectantly.  “Well?”

The mafia lord looked at his young companion again—who was watching him pleadingly.  He finally sighed and downed his drink with a grimace.  “Fine, you’ve talked me into it.  I’m warning you though, Azurel, you cooperate with me and the agents while we’re there and I don’t want you setting foot outside their headquarters without me, one of my men or one of the agents accompanying you.  You don’t stay out past eleven, no matter what I’m up to.  If you think someone might be following you, haul ass to the Alliance headquarters.  Don’t shrug it off.”

Azurel stared at him with his lips parted throughout the entire lecture and when he stopped, the entertainer lifted his brows.  “Wow…are you sure you wouldn’t feel better keeping me in a gilded cage, Zev?”

"Don’t be a smart-ass," warned the guild lord, glancing uncomfortably at his amused Ulvari guests.  "You’re pushing your luck.  Piss me off and I might change my mind again."

Azurel gave him a dimpled, sweet smile.  “I’ll do everything you say, as long as I get to come with.”  He looked at Idrisar with open gratitude.  “Thank you, Agent Blackbird.  You too, Agent Ammiteo.”

* * *

 

After bullying his boss into letting him travel to Avras with them, Azurel bullied him into one of the bathrooms to see to his wound.  He got him to remove his coat and shirt and he sat down on the closed lid of the toilet to put him level with the injury.  Zevian hissed through his teeth as Azurel wiped the gash in his side with a gauze square soaked in antiseptic.  “Careful…that stings.”

Azurel glanced up at him, briefly admiring the sight of smooth ripples of muscle over his naked chest and stomach.  Forests, he loved Zevian’s body.  He worked out regularly and he was built like a gymnast—powerful but not huge like Director Ammiteo.  He lowered his gaze again and for a moment, his eyes fixated on the sire’s navel and he was stricken by a powerful urge to trace it with the tip of his tongue.  He swallowed and forced his attention back to the matter at hand. 

"I’m almost finished," he advised, trying to hide the note of desire in his voice. 

How long had it been since he last had sex?  He knew it was before he met Zevian.  Ever since that night the guild lord took him in, he couldn’t see himself fucking any other man.  Too bad his feelings weren’t reciprocated—although that kiss in the car still had him mightily confused.  That was no platonic kiss.  In fact, Azurel had never experienced a kiss quite like it, before.  It felt like Zevian was making love to his mouth and he began to blush just thinking about it.  He squirmed self-consciously as he swelled in his pants and he was grateful that they were loose enough to conceal his arousal.

He finished cleaning the crusted blood away from Zevian’s torso and he reached for the big square bandaid sitting on the counter.  He applied it carefully, smoothing the adhesive over the smooth skin surrounding the injury.  “There,” he said in satisfaction.  “It should hold through your shower, but if it comes off we’ll just have to apply another.”

Zevian didn’t move right away.  Instead, he stared down at him in a way that Azurel had seen him look at crossword puzzles.  He self-consciously touched his face, thinking he must have gotten something on it without realizing it.  “What is it?”

Zevian shook his head and stroked his hair.  “Nothing.  Thanks, beautiful.”

Azurel shrugged, lowering his gaze again.  “It was nothing.”  He gathered up the bloodstained shirt and the coat.  “I’ll just take these to the laundry room.  Maybe I can get the blood out of the shirt.”

"Don’t bother with the shirt, just toss it," advised Zevian. "I’ve got dozens more."

"Right," agreed Azurel.  "Um…have a nice shower."  He left after that, hoping his condition wasn’t obvious to the other man.

* * *

 

Azurel took it upon himself to lay out some pajamas for Zevian to sleep in and a change of clothes for him to put on in the morning.  He’d done it many times before, though mostly at the club when Zevian slept there overnight.  He went into the guild lord’s bedroom and walked into the big closet, looking around at the selection critically.  Personally, he liked earth tones on Zevian.  They complimented his brown-blond hair and skin tone.  He opened the dresser at the back of the closet and rifled through the pants in the bottom two drawers, until he found a pair of tanned leather ones that looked so good on him.  He matched them up with a black button-up shirt and a tan blazer, aware that the climate in Avras was cooler at this time of year than it was down in Zarn.  They would all need to pack accordingly.

"I wonder if I’ll see snow while I’m there," he pondered. 

After draping his selection for the morning over the coffee table at the foot of the bed, he picked out a pair of sleep pants for the guild lord and laid them on the bed.  He noticed that the shirt fell off the coffee table and he went to pick it up and put it back.  He caught a glimpse of himself with the shirt in the full-length mirror standing in the corner of the room.  He held the garment up to his chin and he smiled.

"I would look good in this."

He glanced at the door.  Zevian was known for taking long showers—and Azurel had long suspected it was for the same reason he himself took long showers.  It was the perfect opportunity to release sexual tension without leaving a mess, after all.  Not that Zevian needed to abstain for any reason, but despite the man’s sex appeal and flirty nature, Azurel had only been forced to suffer through four instances of watching him take other lifebearers to bed in the entire time he’d known him.  Over a period of three years, that wasn’t much for a single sire with his options.

Azurel looked at his reflection again.  He probably shouldn’t do it, but the material was so soft and it had that earthy scent of Zevian’s clinging to it, like all of the guild lord’s clothes.  What would it be like to drape himself in that scent, just once?  Surely it wouldn’t hurt anything if he indulged himself in the fantasy that the kiss in the car hadn’t been just to shut him up. 

* * *

 

Zevian finished towel-drying his hair and he slipped into his bathrobe before exiting the bathroom.  He saw Ammiteo in the hallway when he stepped out and he gave the man a nod of greeting and wished him goodnight before heading in the opposite direction, to his own bedroom.  He needed to get an early start in the morning, to pack and to take Azurel back to the club so that he could pack his things, too.  He was still irritated over being ganged up on and undermined, but Idrisar _had_ made some fine points and he had to admit, he’d feel better watching over Azurel himself.

He whistled a soft tune as he approached his bedroom door.  He’d change into something for bed and have a nightcap with Azurel and anyone else who was interested, and then he’d go to bed and leave his tangle of desires to be sorted out at a better time.

At least, that was the plan.  What happened instead was a source of further frustration to him.  He noticed that his bedroom door was open a crack and his whistling died down in the face of curiosity.  His people knew the rules about going into his room without permission.  Only the maid and Azurel could get away with it.  “Hello?”

"Oh, shit!"  Came the answer from within the room.  It was Azurel’s voice. 

Zevian sighed, guessing what the doting little terror was up to.  It was like a compulsion for him to select outfits for Zevian whenever he could.  “Azurel, I can dress myself.”        

He saw a shadow blot out the light from within the room and then his own door slammed shut in his face.  Zevian stopped in his tracks, bewildered.  “What the _hell_?”  He reached out to try the knob and he found it locked. 

His brows drew down as his patience waned.  “Azurel, you have exactly ten seconds to open this door, or I _will_ break it down and you can forget our agreement concerning Avras.  I’ve had all I can take of this bullshit from you today.  One.  Two.  Three…”

The lock clicked and the door opened with a slight creak.  Zevian pushed it open and walked through to find a very…interesting sight within.

"Don’t be mad," pleaded Azurel, the same way he’d pleaded with him at the cemetery earlier.

Zevian looked him up and down and he found it was bloody _impossible_ to be mad at him.  He couldn’t decide if he looked squishably cute or fuckably sexy in one of his long-sleeved black button-up shirts—and apparently nothing else.  The lifebearer’s clothing lay in a pile on the floor and his hand clutched at the shirt to hold it closed.  He evidently hadn’t had the time to button it up before Zevian came.  His long, black-tipped hair fell around his shoulders and over his chest, offering a bit more cover.  The shirt was just long enough to reach the top of his thighs and Zevian guessed he wouldn’t find any underwear obstructing the view if he were to yank the shirt up for a peek.  He admired the long, toned muscles of the lifebearer’s legs and he imagined what it would feel like to have them wrapped around his waist. 

Zevian cleared his throat, torn between an urge to laugh and an urge to push Azurel down on the bed and ravish him.  “Wh-what are you doing in my shirt?”

"Um…warming it for you?"

Zevian gave him an exasperated look.

"Okay, okay," sighed the lifebearer,  "I was packing some clothes for you and I liked the way the material of this shirt felt.  It was so soft and billowy and I just…wanted to try it on."

"Naked?"  The laughter was threatening to bubble up, but Zevian somehow managed to retain it. 

Azurel appeared adorably crestfallen.  “I’m sorry.”  Something seemed to break in him at that moment and he looked at Zevian with his heart in his eyes.  “That kiss you gave me in the car has my head in a whirl.  I know it was probably nothing to you, but to me it was…I guess I undressed and put the shirt on because I wanted to feel _you_ all around me…wanted to feel like I was really yours.  I didn’t expect you to finish showering so soon.”

Suddenly, it wasn’t funny anymore…not at all.  The vulnerable expression on that sculpted face and the passionate confession tickled all of Zevian’s sexual urges.  All he could think about was the memory of what Azurel looked like nude, the one time he’d seen him undressed.  He’d made him strip to be sure he had no concealed weapons, the night he’d attempted and failed to kill him.  At the time, he wasn’t thinking of the young man in a sexual way any longer…he was just trying to ensure there were no further nasty surprises.  Now his mind’s eye replayed that moment, lingering on the vision of that graceful, lithe body.

"I’ll just change back into these and go," Azurel murmured, mistaking his silence.  He started to pick up his clothes, but Zevian closed the distance and stopped him.  Azurel stared up at him warily.  "I _said_ I was sorry.  I won’t do it again.”

Zevian caught the lifebearer’s wrists, urging him to release the shirt and put his arms to the sides.  Azurel obeyed with quiet curiosity, biting his lip uncertainly.  The open shirt parted with his motions, revealing a tantalizing view of silky-smooth skin, the muscle tone of a dancer and a pretty cock nestled in a carefully groomed strip of crisp, violet curls.  The sire noticed that like the hair on his head, Azurel’s pubic hairs darkened to black at the tips and he recalled part of the conversation he’d had with the lifebearer when he first met him, three years ago.  He hadn’t paid much attention when he had him naked back then, but now was a different story.

"Your carpet _does_ match your drapes.”  He smirked in approval and he slipped his hands into the opening of the shirt, stroking Azurel’s sides and hips gently.  The lifebearer’s groin began to swell and pull taut before his eyes.

"What…does this mean?" asked the lifebearer breathlessly, placing his hands on Zevian’s robe-clad shoulders.  "Because I honestly don’t think I can take more teasing."

Zevian was beyond caution, now.  His cock was poking out obscenely beneath the cover of his bathrobe and the feel of Azurel’s soft skin against his hands reminded him of how long it had been since he’d had a lifebearer in his bed.  He had his needs like any other sire, and here was someone warm and sweet and willing…someone that could be a companion to him, rather than just a warm body…someone who understood that Urahis could never be replaced.

"I’ll admit it," Zevian murmured, "I’m a lonely man.  You’re a very beautiful lifebearer, Azurel.  I thought so from the moment I saw you.  That’s only part of it, though.  Seeing you in the graveyard today and listening to you talk about Urahis made me think hard about how I’ve been perceiving you.  I’m thinking maybe you _aren’t_ too young for me after all.  You’re sure as hell not weak, either.  Strength comes in all different forms and yours is in your compassion and determination.”  He stroked the lifebearer’s hair.

"So…what does this mean?" whispered Azurel again, searching his eyes. 

Zevian lowered his mouth to his and he paused a bare breath away from his lips.  “It means I’m not teasing.  Unless you tell me to stop, you’re going to have me draped around you for real, flower.”

* * *

 

Azurel thought he had died and gone to the humans’ heaven.  Hearing those words come out of Zevian’s mouth in that seductive, deep voice of his was enough to make him harden completely and throb inside.  The man hadn’t even really _touched_ him yet, and his body was already preparing to accept him.

"I’m not going to tell you to stop," promised the lifebearer sincerely.   

To prove it, he slid his hands down and started untying Zevian’s robe, before the sire could change his mind and decide to treat him like a kid again.  He started kissing Zevian’s throat and clavicle, nipping and licking the skin with enthusiasm, showing him how much he wanted him.  Zevian murmured huskily and smoothed his palms over his naked ass to lift him up.  He made a throaty sound of approval when Azurel instinctively hugged his waist with his thighs and he carried him over to the bed, following him down onto it.  Zevian got him out of the shirt with surprising speed and ease, leaving him naked beneath him.  

Azurel got the belt of the sire’s robe untied, but before he could part it and begin to satisfy his curiosity concerning his endowments, Zevian started to turn him over onto his stomach.  He felt a sense of disappointment as he assumed the sire was going to take him right away, without any foreplay or even eye contact.  Having experienced sex of that sort more than enough when he was house entertainment under L’daris’ service, it was only natural for him to make such a presumption.  When he felt Zevian’s calloused hands stroke his thighs and urge them apart, he obliged out of sheer loyalty and love.  He’d been used before.  At least this time, he was going to be used by someone he actually wanted. 

"Relax," murmured Zevian, brushing Azurel’s long, flowing hair to one side to bare his back. 

To the lifebearer’s confused surprise, Zevian began to caress his shoulders, his back and his sides.  He seated himself on the edge of the bed and he leaned over the prone young man to kiss his skin as he explored him.  Sometimes his touch was butterfly soft and sometimes he kneaded the muscles, massaging them.  This wasn’t what Azurel was expecting at all and he sighed in pleasure, enjoying the older man’s patient touch.  Zevian’s hands and lips worked their way down his back, until he was caressing and squeezing his bare ass.  He kissed each cheek before spreading them and Azurel’s head lifted from his folded arms with surprise when he felt the sire’s tongue begin to stroke and probe between them.

"Oh…Zev…Zevian?"

"Easy, love," answered the sire in a purring, confident voice.  "I’m not going to hurt you."

Azurel flushed and bit his lip, a little disconcerted that his beloved guardian had guessed something of what he was thinking before.  He didn’t get the chance to linger on the thought for very long, because Zevian’s tongue began to stroke insistently against the sensitive ring of his entrance.  One of his hands slid under Azurel’s hip from the side and urged him to lift up a little.  When he complied impulsively, Zevian’s other hand burrowed between his thighs and under, to cup his balls. 

Azurel’s vision blurred and his eyes went blank with pleasure as his balls were gently rolled in Zevian’s palm in a skillful massage.  The tip of the sire’s tongue traced the outer edges of his entrance before delving in briefly, teasingly.  Azurel’s fingers curled, grabbing up the comforter he laid upon and unconsciously tugging at it.  Nobody had ever done anything like this to him before.  He was used to being the one to give oral pleasure and while he’d certainly heard of sires doing this kind of thing before, he assumed he’d never be a recipient of it.  He felt the heat rising in his face again, only this time it had nothing to do with embarrassment.  He was vaguely thankful that he was still in the habit of practicing internal hygiene.  It seemed he was finally getting some good karma out of it.

"Zevian," he gasped as the relentless ministrations steadily boosted his body’s receptiveness and made him squirm.  He rotated his hips and whimpered when the sire responded by thrusting his tongue inside of him.  He called the sire’s name again as Zevian’s other hand reached under his hips to squeeze his erection, stalling the orgasm that nearly rose up. 

"Not just yet," murmured Zevian, ceasing his tongue-work on the lifebearer’s clenching entrance. 

He waited for Azurel to calm down a bit and when he was satisfied that the urge to ejaculate was easing up, he released his cock and urged him to roll onto his back again.  Hornier than he’d ever been before in his life, Azurel slid his fingers through Zevian’s damp hair and drew him down for a kiss, rubbing his naked groin against his through the opening of the bathrobe.  He hugged his waist with his legs again and he whimpered into his mouth, wanting to feel him inside of him.  

"Mmm, you’re on fire," Zevian purred between kisses, his hard sex pressing against Azurel’s enticingly. 

He groaned softly as the lifebearer slipped a hand down between their bodies and gripped his shaft.  He held still for him, giving him the chance to get a feel of him.  He pulled back to gaze down at the young man with vivid, smoky eyes, slowly thrusting his hips in time with Azurel’s explorative strokes.  Azurel stared up at him with a feeling of awe, hardly believing that Zevian was about to be his.  He admired the girth and length of his arousal as he fondled it and he reached up to run his free hand over the tight muscles of the sire’s chest and stomach.  Zevian’s handsome face was illuminated with an expression of pleasure and his lips were parted.  His damp, gold-streaked hair hung loose around his shoulders and as he watched him, Azurel was reminded of a blue-eyed tiger. 

"Gods, you’re beautiful," remarked Azurel breathlessly.  He ran his fingertips over the sire’s neck and jaw, tracing the planes of his face to one of his pointed ears and the many piercings adorning the shell of it. 

Zevian chuckled, flashing his teeth briefly in a smile before shutting his eyes.  “That’s the sort of thing _I’m_ supposed to be saying to _you_ , sweet thing.”

"I don’t care."  Azurel teased the pointed tip of his companion’s ear, figuring out that it was a weak spot of his.  "You _are_ beautiful.  I doubt there’s a lifebearer, woman, gay man or mirrored sire on Wyndrah that would disagree with me.”

Feeling emboldened by the deep, rumbling purr he was evoking, Azurel cupped the back of Zevian’s head and drew it down again.  He traced the sire’s parted lips with the tip of his tongue and he purred back at him.  “And you’re all mine, now.”

"Possessive little thing, aren’t you?"  Zevian grinned and licked his exploring tongue sensually.  He grunted and his dick bucked a little in Azurel’s hand when the lifebearer skillfully pressed his thumbnail against the urethra opening in the tip, stimulating just enough to give him a little jolt of sensation, without actually hurting him. 

"Yes," agreed Azurel without apology.  He’d been prepared to give him up for Idrisar when it seemed like the agent was first in line for Zevian’s affections, but that was when he thought he only saw him as a child.  Things were different, now.  "When it comes to you, I’m not sure I can help it. I hope you don’t mind."

"I think I can live with that."  Zevian kissed his way over to Azurel’s ear, nibbling on it teasingly.  "As long as you can put up with the same."  He followed up with a little groan as the lifebearer’s stroked his erection a little faster. 

"I’ve belonged to you since you first took me in," assured Azurel.  He was breaking into a sweat, his body screaming for the sire’s cock.  "Zevian…I need you now."  He dragged his hand down and over Zevian’s chest, fondling his nipples to hardness one at a time.  He squirmed beneath him and pulled his legs further back, positioning himself invitingly.

"Please, Zevian."

The sire’s tension was increasing and the intensity of his gaze was proof that he couldn’t hold back much longer, either.  He supported his weight on one arm so that he wasn’t crushing the smaller man and he caressed his face with his other hand.  “Guide me in, baby.”

Azurel didn’t need to be told twice.  He angled his pelvis to receive him and he positioned the sire’s erection until he felt the knob of the tip against his entrance.  He relaxed as much as possible and nodded, looking up at him trustingly.  Zevian eased in slowly, feeding him a little at a time with care that Azurel had never gotten from a sire before.  Zevian lowered his head to kiss his throat and jaw as he withdrew a little, then drove forward again.  He did this three more times, easing in little by little until he was fully seated inside of him. 

It felt so good that Azurel didn’t want him to leave.  He locked his ankles together at the small of Zevian’s back and put his arms around him, shutting his eyes.  “Wait,” he demanded in a shaken whisper when the sire tried to withdraw.  “Can we just…stay like this for a minute?”

"Need more time to adjust?" guessed Zevian.

Azurel shook his head and stroked the sire’s hair, opening his eyes to look at him.  “No.  I just want to feel you inside for a little while…just like this.”

Something gentle passed over Zevian’s face.  “Whatever you want, gorgeous.”    

Azurel smiled at him and he traced his features with his fingertips before urging his head down again for a kiss.  Every part of him wanted to declare his love then and there, but he instinctively knew that he risked ruining the moment if he did.  Zevian certainly wasn’t ready to even contemplate loving him the way he loved the sire.  Blurting out that he was in love with him would only pressure the sire to respond in kind or try to pretend he didn’t hear it.  Azurel settled for speaking the words with his heart instead of his physical voice and he nodded at his companion, letting him know he was ready for more. 

Zevian withdrew and slid back in smoothly, unerringly angling his thrust to stroke Azurel’s g-spot in passing.  The lifebearer gasped sharply and begged him to do it again—to which Zevian gladly obliged.  The third stroke was a little harder and deeper, but Zevian was careful to hold it steady for a while before gradually increasing the force and speed of his motions.  His breath mingled with Azurel’s as he pumped, and the lifebearer made good use of his old training to squeeze Zevian’s shaft just right each time he withdrew.

"Oh gods," Zevian groaned in appreciation, quickly caught up in his passion.  He balanced carefully and reached down with one hand to stroke the lifebearer’s dew-capped erection. 

"Yes," gasped Azurel eagerly, biting his lip as the sire’s rhythm changed to rapid little thrusts.  He usually didn’t appreciate big dicks inside of him, as fascinating as he found them.  Azurel was quickly changing his opinion about that, proving that sex with a well-endowed sire didn’t _have_ to hurt at all.  “Oh, Zevian…Zev…feels…so good!  I…I’m coming…oh _forests_ , I can’t hold it!”

  Zevian groaned through his teeth, keeping his strokes and pumping steady until the final explosion of pleasure made Azurel toss his head back and yell hoarsely.  He bucked hard in the sire’s hand, coming all over his shifting torso.  Zevian growled and tensed above him, still managing to keep his thrusts steady until the last of Azurel’s spasms ended.  He pushed deep inside of him and twitched, filling him with his seed as Azurel rubbed his back and kissed his shoulder. 

"Wow," breathed Azurel in exhaustion when he could finally speak again.  He caressed his companion’s chest and shoulders, smiling blissfully as he listened to his ragged breathing and felt his heartbeat beneath his palms.  "They weren’t…kidding."

"Hmm?"  Zevian lifted his head and gave him a puzzled look, still panting for breath.  "Who…wasn’t kidding…about what?"

"The lifebearers you’ve…slept with in the past," answered Azurel, unable to make his goofy smile of satisfaction go away.  "I wondered if they might have just been…playing lip service, since you’re the guild lord and all.  They…weren’t.  You’re as generous as they said you’d be."

Zevian looked like he wasn’t sure how to process the compliment.  “You talked to them about it?”

Azurel shrugged.  “I might have asked for some details.  I didn’t think _I_ was ever going to make it into your bed, so…”

Zevian chuckled and kissed him softly.  “Little pervert.”

"Find someone that blames me," challenged Azurel with a cheeky, happy smile.  "I _dare_ you.”  He rubbed the sire’s back, appreciating the feel of his smooth skin and the ripples of muscle underneath.

Zevian began to plant little kisses over his cheek, nose and mouth.  “No thanks.  I’d rather do this for a while, until I get my second wind.”

Azurel agreed wholeheartedly. 

* * *

 

In his guest room, Idrisar stared up at the ceiling and shook his head, having heard enough of their activities to guess what was going on in that room.

"Zevian, You idiot."

When he’d encouraged him to explore his feelings for Azurel, he certainly didn’t mean he should bed him right away.  The agent sighed, thinking of his own recent, awkward encounter with Ammiteo.  Maybe he was just jealous.  Zevian appeared to be “going for it” with his pretty entertainer and Idrisar couldn’t even figure out how to let a sire kiss him without pushing him away or accidentally making fun of him.

"Maybe it’s for the best," he sighed.  He rolled over and turned the lamp off, trying not to think of how close he’d come to throwing himself at Ammiteo. 

"Stay the course," he yawned.  "Focus on the mission first and worry about the personal things later."

It sounded good in theory, but he kept thinking of the sire in the room next to his and when he fell asleep, he had an interesting dream of sneaking into there and crawling into bed with Ammiteo.  The slumbering agent grinned unconsciously.

* * *

 

-To be continued              


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

Idrisar woke up in a foul mood.  First he couldn’t find his contact lenses and then when he did, he dropped one on the floor and stepped on it…ruining it.  He’d only requested one pair, predicting he wouldn’t be staying at the Zarn islands for long.  Cutting his loss, he showered and contented himself with using his glasses until he made it home and could order more in.  This time, he would get extra.  He was tired of losing them. 

After showering and changing, he double-checked to be sure he had everything packed and he carried his luggage downstairs.  He found Ammiteo standing by the big double glass doors leading from the living room out onto the back porch and he stopped uncertainly.  The sire heard him, since he wasn’t trying to be particularly quiet.  He turned to regard him and for a moment, they both just stood there silently.  Ammiteo lowered his gaze first, looking oddly sheepish for such a big, strong man. 

"I was thinking of walking to the little corner bistro a few streets down for breakfast," he said.  "Would you like to join me, Agent Blackbird?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to decline, because he didn’t feel like dealing with further awkwardness this morning and he was in such a pissy mood.  However, he didn’t want to damage things between them more than he already had.  Idrisar nodded and forced a little smile. 

"I’d be happy to, sir.  I’ll just get my shade clips for my glasses and I’ll be good to go."

Ammiteo nodded.  “You aren’t wearing your contacts today?”

The lifebearer stopped in the process of getting his eyewear case out of his carry-on bag and he sighed.  “I lost one.  Or rather…I stepped on it when I was getting ready for my shower.  It’s ruined.”

Ammiteo’s mouth twitched with restrained amusement, his uncertainty fading a bit.  “You really have piss-poor luck with those.  I’m going to order a dozen pair of those for you, when your birthday comes around again.  Not that you look bad in glasses at all, but I know you prefer the lenses when you’re on the field.”  He started to get a little flustered and he snapped his mouth shut. 

Idrisar got the impression that if he weren’t so disciplined, Ammiteo might have started blushing.  It was kind of cute and it sweetened his sour mood a little.  He found the shade clips in his case and he attached them to his glasses to protect his eyes from the sun.  “Ready when you are, Director.”

* * *

 

Some twenty minutes after the two Ulvari agents left for breakfast, Azurel woke up alone in Zevian’s bed.  He stretched and smiled, replaying every moment of the night before in his head.  The second and third times both lasted longer than the first…possibly because he and Zevian both got a bit over-heated the first time.  When he realized his lover wasn’t in bed with him, he frowned and looked around to find a single black rose from the garden outside resting on the pillow next to his, with a note beneath it.  A curious smile curved his lips and he took the flower to smell it, before reading the note.

_"Join me in the shower, if you wake soon enough._

_-Zev.”_

Azurel realized he could hear the shower going in the private bathroom adjoining the master bedroom.  He wasted no time pulling the covers down and getting out of the bed.  He placed the rose gently on the nightstand, finding the gesture sweet and romantic.  He never knew Zevian had a side like this, but the man was from an older generation, raised in a time when it was commonplace for sires to romance their partners, even after getting them into bed.  Azurel found it to his liking.

He crossed the room naked to the bathroom door and he pushed it open slowly, peeking in without saying anything.  Zevian’s shower was cylindrical in shape and made of glass—affording Azurel with a clear view of the sire.  He took a moment to admire the sight of Zevian’s tawny, naked form under the cascading water before stepping into the bathroom to join him.  Zevian had his head tilted back to rinse the shampoo out of his hair, so he didn’t hear the lifebearer’s approach until Azurel opened the shower door.  The guild lord opened one eye and smiled at him, stepping back a little to make more room.

 ”Glad you could join me,” he offered, sparing a leisurely, admiring scan of the young man’s body before tilting his head back again to finish rinsing the suds out of his hair.  “Come on in, gorgeous.”

Azurel certainly had no argument for that.  He stepped into the shower, shut the door behind him and put his arms around the taller man immediately, kissing his neck and chest with adoration and passion. 

"Can I finish rinsing my hair first?" Zevian laughed when the lifebearer tugged on his earlobe with his teeth and growled playfully.

"Hurry," demanded Azurel, already hard and ready for action.  He slicked his hands over the sire’s wet, powerful body with appreciation and he resumed kissing him as he waited for him to finish what he was doing.

"We’re never going to get properly clean this way," predicted Zevian when he finished rinsing his hair and began to reciprocate Azurel’s touches and kisses. 

Azurel began to gracefully sink down, smiling mischievously up at Zevian as he gripped his hardening sex and squatted before him.  “We will eventually.”

Zevian swore softly and grabbed the support bar on the wall as the lifebearer began to demonstrate his oral skills.  “To hell with getting clean,” gasped the guild lord.

* * *

 

They ate outside at the bistro, enjoying the cool breeze coming in from the ocean as they sat at one of the wrought iron tables under an umbrella.  Idrisar had a plate of mixed fruits, nuts and cereal, while Ammiteo had a sausage muffin and a fried egg.  The director watched his companion covertly, wishing with all his being that he could undo his foolish actions from the night before.  He let the necessary act from the meeting with L’daris go to his head and he got caught up in his passion for his alluring agent.  He watched the way the breeze stirred Idrisar’s hair and he wondered if he was planning on dying it solid black again, or leaving it the natural base color and letting it grow into its natural shades.  He thought it would be interesting to see the tips darken to black and he found it easy to imagine Idrisar that way.

The pale blue eyes met his as Idrisar took a sip of juice and Ammiteo quickly broke eye contact with a frown, uncomfortable.  He supposed he should try to straighten out the mess he’d caused last night.  He knew Blackbird was attracted to Zevian and vice-versa, no matter how much the lifebearer tried to deny it. 

"Idrisar," he began, using the agent’s given name, "I’d like to speak off the record for a bit."

The smaller man nodded, giving him one of those quiet, sophisticated little smiles that made Ammiteo’s pulse quicken.  “Of course.  What’s on your mind, Ammiteo?”

Forests…he did it _again_.  The sire sat stupefied for a moment by the sound of his name on those lips.  He wasn’t sure just _how_ he did it, but Idrisar somehow managed to make it sound like his tongue was caressing his name when he spoke it.  Ammiteo supposed it was that lilting, Nandarian accent of his. 

"Ammiteo?" prompted the lifebearer when he didn’t immediately answer—inadvertently distracting him again.

"Last night," said Ammiteo, firmly shoving aside the effect Idrisar’s way of speaking his name had on him, "I did a stupid thing, and I was interrupted before I could really offer you a proper apology.  I should have spoken to you about it after our host and his companions went to do their own things, but I needed to pull my thoughts together."

Idrisar lowered his eyes.  “Oh, listen…that wasn’t—”

"I’m lucky you found it funny, instead of offensive," interrupted Ammiteo in a rush, his face heating with humiliation.  "After some of the garbage you’ve been subjected to, you were well within your rights to file an official complaint.  I just want to say that I’m deeply sorry for any discomfort I might have caused, and I swear to you, it won’t happen again."

Idrisar sighed, and if anything, he looked more annoyed.  “Can I please speak now, or will you just interrupt me again?”

Ammiteo cursed himself.  He was saying and doing everything wrong with this man, lately.  “Again, I apologize.  Please, speak your mind.”

"Thank you."  Idrisar looked around as if seeking inspiration and he leaned over the table a little as he began to speak in a low voice.  Behind the rectangular lenses of his glasses, his crystal-blue eyes were sincere and riveting on the sire.  "The truth is, Ammiteo, I was _not_ laughing because you were about to kiss me.  Well, I _was,_ but not for the reason you think.”

"I…don’t understand," admitted Ammiteo. 

Idrisar lowered his gaze and hesitated for a moment.  “How do I explain this?  I don’t think there really is a _good_ way to do it.”  He sighed and poked absently at his half-eaten grapefruit slice with his fork.  “I was laughing because I couldn’t believe I was finding myself in a situation like that again for the second time in the same day.  It had nothing to do with you or a lack of interest in you, Ammiteo.  The truth is, earlier that morning after I woke up, Saber and I kissed.”

Ammiteo felt an ugly swell of jealousy inside, though he had a feeling something like this was going to happen sooner or later.  He’d hoped that Idrisar’s unwavering professionalism would prevent it, though.  “Oh.”

"Nothing came of it," assured Idrisar softly, meeting his gaze again, "and nothing ever _will_.  We shared a moment because he and I connect on some levels and we were both in a vulnerable place, emotionally.  Zevian and I don’t _fit_ , though—no matter how well we ‘click’ physically.  Our lifestyles, our personalities and our belief systems make us incompatible for any sort of long-term relationship.  I realized that quickly and put a stop to it, before it could go beyond a kiss.”

Ammiteo couldn’t quite hide his relief, though he wouldn’t have really blamed Idrisar if he had slept with Saber.  He could admit the man was good-looking and charming, and he knew Idrisar had been single for over thirty years, now.  Thinking of that, he was rather amazed at the man’s self-control. 

"Not many people could have turned away the opportunity to be with someone they connect with, like that," Ammiteo said.  "I commend you for your willpower and for again demonstrating what a professional you are, Agent Blackbird."

"Don’t be so quick to praise me for that," warned the lifebearer with a smirk.  "I have another confession to make that will probably tarnish that sterling reputation you think I have."

Ammiteo mentally braced himself, though he couldn’t imagine what could be so bad, if Idrisar had already resisted temptation with Saber.  “Go on.”

The agent sighed and he reached across the table to lay one hand over Ammiteo’s.  “There’s still the issue of my feelings for _you_ , Ammiteo.  The truth is, if I hadn’t been stricken with a moment of hysteria last night, I wouldn’t have stopped you.”

The sire’s mouth felt suddenly dry.  “Oh?”

A little smile curved Idrisar’s mouth.  “In fact, if I’m going to be completely honest with you, I may as well tell you I’d love to kiss you right now.”

Were he a more impulsive man, Ammiteo would have jumped over the table to lay a big wet one on him right then and there.  As it was, he returned the pressure of the lifebearer’s hand and he tried to respond with some dignity.  “So then, there’s something between us?  This isn’t just me feeling it?”

"It isn’t just you," confirmed Idrisar.  "However, I think the ancestors have been trying to tell me something, with everything that’s happened.  Things always seem to come up whenever opportunity presents itself, as if someone is trying to remind me that we’re in the middle of a very important case.  This really isn’t the time to act on this."

Ammiteo tempered his disappointment with common sense.  “Of course.  I’m glad _one_ of us can remember that.”

Idrisar smiled softly again, his gaze direct and searching on Ammiteo’s.  “There’s also the issue of our status.  _Should_ we ever act on this, Ammiteo?  We work together.”

"Agents Wolfe and Glaive aren’t exactly keeping it a secret that they’ve acted on _their_ attraction,” reminded the director, “though they’ve got the sense not to bring that relationship to work with them and be discreet about it.”

"But they’re partners," Idrisar pointed out.  "You are my boss.  What would it do to our careers and our relationship with our associates, if we were to act on our attraction and people found out?  They would assume you favor me out of romantic obligation, and who could blame them for it?"

Ammiteo knew then that he’d found something as important to him as his work…and he demonstrated it.  “If it really became an issue, I would transfer to another department.  I don’t want to damage our working relationship, Idrisar, but if you’re hinting that there could be something more between us, I can compromise to give it a chance.”

"You’re saying you would give up your position as Director of our department, just to date me?"  Idrisar looked torn between flattery and disconcertion.  "You realize I could never let you do that, Ammiteo.  You have a promising career ahead of you, and you’ve accomplished so much already in your time as our director."

"I appreciate that, but I meant what I said," answered the sire firmly.  His heart was pounding in his chest and he wished he could finish what he’d started last night and kiss Idrisar.  "I’m not going to embarrass myself with cheesy overtures and lines, but I’ve never met a lifebearer like you before, and I would be willing to transfer to the next county, if it meant having the chance to go out with you.  Please excuse me if I’m being too forward, but it’s the simple truth."  He threaded his fingers through Idrisar’s smaller ones, willing him to understand.

Idrisar looked down at their clasped hand and he reciprocated the sire’s grip.  “I would like to see where this takes us too… _after_ we’ve resolved the Sandman case, one way or the other.  If you still feel this strongly about it then, we can explore this further and figure out what to do about balancing it with work then.”  He met the sire’s eyes and held them.  “Is this an acceptable proposal to you, Ammiteo?”

Knowing Idrisar, the alternative was nothing at all and since that simply wouldn’t do, Ammiteo agreed with as much cool as he could muster.  “You have my full cooperation, Idrisar.”

Agent Blackbird gave him one more smile and it lit up his eyes.  “Good.  This gives me even more incentive to bring this bastard down and close this case.”

* * *

 

When they returned to Zevian’s house, they passed a few of his men on the way into the house and they exchanged greetings with them.  The guild lord and his entertainer were both awake, dressed and having breakfast together under the gazebo in the front yard and Idrisar quietly observed them as they approached. 

Azurel appeared to be wearing a borrowed outfit that was too big for him, but he couldn’t have looked more content and comfortable in his own clothes than he did now.  His silky hair was freshly washed and styled, with the sides held back from his face with ornate black-jeweled combs.  His bangs framed his sculpted face—which was free of any lip-gloss or eye makeup.  He looked fresh and natural in what Idrisar presumed to be one of Zevian’s black button up shirts and a pair of white pants.  The bottoms of the pant legs were rolled up a little because they were too long for him.

Across from the entertainer, Zevian had his hair bound in his customary ponytail, with a few braids woven into it.  He had on a pair of tan pants, a white shirt and a tan vest.  He spoke in a low voice to his companion and he occasionally reached across to touch his hand or feed him a morsel off his own plate. 

This unexpected behavior made Idrisar blink, and he was thankful that he had on a pair of shades to mask his gaze.  Maybe his concerns were all for naught.  By all appearances, Zevian was taking his new relationship with Azurel seriously.  He seemed attentive and considerate of the lifebearer—not to mention romantic.  Watching them together reminded Idrisar of the way he and his deceased mate used to interact and the swift pang of nostalgia and grief that struck him took him off guard.  He’d felt a little nostalgic when Ammiteo held his hand at breakfast, but the scene before him was like something from his own past. 

"There you two are," Zevian called, waving at them.  "Sit down and have some breakfast.  Our flight leaves in a couple of hours."

"We’ve already eaten, but thank you," Ammiteo informed politely.  He turned to Idrisar.  "I’m going to check my room to be sure I haven’t left anything behind.  Maybe you should do the same."

Idrisar nodded wordlessly, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

"Is everything all right?"  Ammiteo—forests bless him—seemed to pick up on his angst and an expression of concern softened his attractive, chiseled features. 

"Fine," answered Idrisar, proud of how even his tone sounded even though he had to force the words out.  "I was just mentally reviewing everything I did when I woke up this morning.  You’re right; I should double-check, just in case."

Ammiteo still looked vaguely suspicious, but he didn’t question him.

* * *

 

When he was alone in the guest room he’d been staying in, Idrisar sank down on to the bed and took his glasses off.  He set the eyewear on the nightstand and he rubbed his eyes vigorously, his breath hitching with warning.  Remembering how Leison used to do the very same things Zevian was doing with Azurel brought back so many other memories—some of which were so painful, Idrisar had been keeping them locked tightly away.  In the darkest corners of his memories were those last couple of months of his mate’s life, when he eventually succumbed to dementia and could no longer recognize him…or their children.

Idrisar tried not to think about it, but watching Zevian and Azurel triggered these memories before he could even attempt to block them again.  He stared blankly at the wall and tried to fortify himself, tried to slip into a meditative trance to muffle those painful memories again…at least until he could finish the case he was working on.  He could give into further mourning later.

_"You! Get your hands off of me!  My mate is the one who does that!  Don’t touch me!  Idrisar, where are you?"_

The Ulvari agent pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes as he shut them and he shook his head.  He didn’t want to see those wild, disoriented blue-gray eyes looking up at him without recognition, even as the gasping mouth shouted his name.  He didn’t want to see the bald head, where a glorious mane of pale blond hair used to grow thick and long to the shoulders.  He didn’t want to remember how little Sefon came into the bedroom, drawn by his sire’s delirious shouts and Idrisar’s desperate pleas for him to calm down.

_"Papa?  Why is Daddy yelling?"_

_"He’s just confused, little one.  Here, take your teddy and go play in your room.  I’ll come in and read to you soon."_

_"But I wanna talk to Daddy."_

Idrisar remembered looking at his mate, who had suddenly calmed down.  The relief Idrisar had felt was short-lived when Leison looked at their little lifebearer son without any recognition at all in his eyes. 

_"And who’s this little cutie?  Are you lost, child?"_

After that, Idrisar picked Sefon up and spirited him out of the room quickly, because though the child was too young to fully comprehend why his sire was so ill, he understood that he didn’t know who he was anymore and he started to cry.  Being unable to shield his children from that stage of Leison’s disease made Idrisar realize that in his devotion to his spouse, he’d made an enormous mistake.  He should have put him into a care home as suggested by his doctors, but he insisted that he would die at home in his own bed, if this was going to be the end of him. 

In the end, the ones who suffered the most were Idrisar and his children.  He thought he was doing the right thing, taking care of his dying spouse himself.  Leison, however, left his body long before it died.  While his family watched him fade, he was unaware of his surroundings or even who he was and the drugs kept his pain under control.  There was no medication to numb their broken hearts, though.  Idrisar had never been able to forgive himself of the sin of subjecting his innocent sons to that final stage.

He rocked slowly back and forth on the bed, steadily losing the battle to control his emotions.  A shaken, silent sob shook him and it started a chain reaction that he was helpless to stop.  There was nothing to do for it except let it run its course.  He lay down on the bed and curled into a fetal position, careful not to put his shoes on the bed even in his miserable state of mind. 

"Agent Blackbird?" 

Ammiteo’s low call from the other side of the door prompted Idrisar to cover his mouth and hold back his tears, but he couldn’t answer the man without giving away his distress.  He remembered that he hadn’t locked the door when it creaked open and he bit his lip as he heard Ammiteo’s booted feet step into the room.  He hastily sat up, keeping his back to the door as he tried to compose himself to speak.

"You didn’t respond," Ammiteo said.  "And you acted strangely outside.  Are you sure everything is all right?"

Idrisar nodded, still avoiding facing him.  He wiped at his eyes futilely; the tears kept coming.

Ammiteo approached and Idrisar tensed as he felt the big man’s presence at his back.  “Idrisar, turn and look at me.”

Knowing the other man wouldn’t leave until he did so, Idrisar complied.  Ammiteo’s expression of concern deepened when he saw the glistening tears on his cheeks.  The sire approached and he sat down on the edge of the bed beside Idrisar. 

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Idrisar shook his head, but he started talking anyway, unable to stop himself.  “I thought I was over it.  I thought I could handle it by now.”

Ammiteo glanced at him sidelong and nodded.  “It hurt you to see Zevian and Azurel together that way.”

"No," denied Idrisar.  "Well, yes…but not in the way you think.  This isn’t about jealousy or lovesick pining."

"All right," murmured Ammiteo, "then what _is_ it about?”

"My spouse," explained Idrisar.  "I wasn’t expecting it to hit me like that, when I saw the two of them eating breakfast together.  They reminded me of Leison and I, before the cancer.  He used to feed me bites off his plate and hold my hand like that.  I…seeing them like that…it brought back a rush of memories.  I just…had to get out of sight." 

Ammiteo reached out and put a consoling hand on his shoulder.  “I understand.  I can’t pretend to know what it’s like, but my sire never completely got over my father’s death either.  Some things would just trigger old feelings and memories for him, even years after my father’s passing.”

Idrisar swallowed, taking comfort in the other man’s presence.  Ordinarily, he hated anyone to see him vulnerable.  He didn’t mind so much with Ammiteo, however.  He placed his hand over the big one resting on his shoulder, to let him know his touch was appreciated. 

"I started thinking about the last couple of months of his life," he said in an aching whisper.  "He didn’t know who any of us were, anymore.  I could have put him into professional care, but I thought he would have preferred being with us ‘till the end.  I still…I still hate myself for letting our sons see him like _that_.”

"There’s no shame in being loyal and loving to your mate, Idrisar."  Ammiteo hesitantly put an arm around him and when the lifebearer didn’t pull away, he hugged him gently and wiped his tears away with the thumb of his free hand.  He cupped his chin and coaxed him to lift his head and look at him.  His violet eyes were warm and kind.  "I’m sure your sons don’t resent your choice."

"They don’t," agreed Idrisar with a trembling sigh, "but I wish I could have sheltered them from that, all the same.  I’m sorry…this isn’t the time for me to—"

"Nonsense," disagreed Ammiteo.  "This is the _perfect_ time for you to get this off your chest, before we travel back home.  You should vent, Idrisar.  It’s healthy and you’ll be able to concentrate better if you aren’t trying to swallow this.  It will stay between us, in this room.”

Idrisar gave him a tremulous smile, unaware of how young and vulnerable he looked in that moment.  “I appreciate that.”  He sniffed and he allowed himself the comfort of putting an arm around the bigger man in a return embrace.  “You won’t tell anyone?”

Ammiteo smiled a little painfully and nuzzled Idrisar’s hair as the lifebearer laid his head on his shoulder.  “Not a soul.”

* * *

 

They left roughly an hour later.  First, they stopped by Zevian’s club so that Azurel could go to his room upstairs and hastily pack some things for the trip.  Zevian advised him to pack lightly, promising to take him shopping and sightseeing whenever he had time to spare.  After making some last minute arrangements and going over the criteria for running business and handling island affairs while Zevian was away, they went to the airport to catch their plane.  Johnny met up with them there and he and Therril traveled with them as bodyguards.  Adam would need time to recover from his gunshot injury and Vylden was staying behind to manage the club and act in Zevian’s stead in business matters.

They flew First Class to Valkyrie Falls, courtesy of Zevian.  Both Idrisar and Ammiteo thought it was a waste, but the guild lord insisted and there was no point in arguing with him.  Ammiteo again began to suffer a bit of airsickness and Idrisar courteously stimulated his pressure points as he had when they first flew to Zarn.  Zevian watched as he stroked Azurel’s hair and he noticed the quiet exchange of smiles between the two agents.  It made his eyebrows go up when Idrisar leaned toward the big man and murmured something in his ear intimately.  Ammiteo smiled and said something back, and Idrisar stopped rubbing his wrists to get out of his seat.

Zevian checked on his lover’s status.  Azurel was curled up in his chair comfortably, snoozing against Zevian’s shoulder.  The guild lord smiled at the young lifebearer, amazed by how easy sleep came to him.  Even in VIP accommodation, Zevian had never been able to sleep well during travel.

"I’ve got to get up for a few minutes, flower," he murmured to his companion, gently urging him to change positions so he wouldn’t fall over when he left his seat. 

"Hmm?"  Azurel opened his eyes and blinked at Zevian sleepily. 

"I’ll be right back."  Zevian pressed the release button on Azurel’s chair and eased it back into a reclining position so he could be more comfortable.  "There, how is that?"

Azurel curled up again.  “I’d rather sleep against you.”

Zevian chuckled and got out of his chair.  He reached for the overhead compartment to retrieve a pillow and blanket for him.  “You can when I come back.”  He situated the pillow under his head and covered him with the blanket.  Seeing the cheeky little smile on the lifebearer’s lips before he schooled his expression, the guild lord paused.

"Yeah, that’s right. You’ve got me dick-whipped.  Enjoy."

Azurel snickered softly and peeked up at him through locks of violet, black-tipped hair that fell across his face.  “I didn’t say anything.”

Zevian braced himself against a spot of turbulence and when it calmed again, he bent over the younger man and murmured into his ear.  “You’re loving it, I know.  Don’t think it makes me your bitch, kid.”  He brushed aside the hair obscuring Azurel’s features and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Azurel caught Zevian’s hand and nuzzled it affectionately.  “I’m loving the attention, I admit.  I don’t think you’re my bitch, though.”

Zevian smirked in amusement.  “Or you’re just too smart to say so.  I’ll be back soon.”

"Okay."  Azurel yawned and snuggled into the seat. 

Zevian reached over him to slide the shade down on their window and then he moved out into the isle.  Therril and Johnny were sitting in the row behind them and Zevian gave the sire a nod to let him know everything was okay when he looked up from the personal movie screen he was watching.  He walked to the back of the section where the bathrooms were and he found Idrisar doing some standing exercises and stretching. 

"So, it looks like you’re rethinking some things too," observed Zevian in a low voice, nodding meaningfully toward the seats Idrisar and Ammiteo were sitting in.  The director was listening to the headphone set with his head back against the seat.

"Unlike _you_ , I’m taking my time,” informed the agent softly.  He lifted his right leg behind him and caught hold of his ankle, balancing with uncanny ease as he leaned forward on one foot to stretch the leg muscles.

"Hey, don’t judge me," protested Zevian, realizing Idrisar was aware of what had transpired between him and Azurel. 

"It’s not my place to judge you," answered the Ulvari calmly—but his pretty blue eyes were disdainful behind the lenses of his glasses.

"And yet here you are, judging me," countered Zevian with a smirk.  "Your lips might say differently, but your eyes are shaking a finger at me like a chastising schoolmarm."

Idrisar’s mouth twitched briefly.  “Maybe that’s because when I encouraged you to really _look_ at Azurel and examine your feelings for him, I didn’t mean you should drag him straight into your bed.  My concern isn’t for you and I don’t really care if you’re a lecher.  I care about what’s going to happen to that young man, now that you’ve taken advantage of his love for you.”

Zevian whistled softly.  “Ouch.  For a guy that isn’t judging me, you’re really giving it to me with both barrels.”

Idrisar shrugged.  “You insisted on having this conversation, so I’m giving you my honest opinion.”

"Hmm.  You’ve got me all wrong, you know."  Zevian leaned closer to him and spoke in a low murmur.  "When I’m with someone, I put my back into it.  I treat my lovers like a treasure."

Idrisar’s cold expression softened a little and he dropped his leg back down to the floor and lowered his gaze.  “So I’ve noticed.  I’m sure Azurel would rather you put your heart into it than your back, though.”

"He understands I’m giving him every part of me I can give," argued Zevian.  "I don’t know why you’re riding my ass.  You ought to know I’m going to need some time to adjust.  I haven’t been with anyone in nearly thirty years.  I’ve got to ease back into this, understand?"

Idrisar sighed and looked out the nearby window at the clouds below.  “Yes, actually I _do_ understand.  I suppose you and I just have different methods of moving on.”  He looked up at the taller man somberly.  “I really hope for his sake that this isn’t just an act though, Zevian.  Azurel deserves better than that.”

"Relax," assured the guild lord.  "I’m going to treat him right.  What about you and your director, Id boy?  You seem to have worked out your age issues and started focusing on the pleasure principle too."

"I have," agreed Idrisar, "and for now, we’re giving this case our full attention.  After that, we’ll see where it goes.  Oh, and if you call me ‘Id boy’ again, I’ll throw you off of this plane."

Zevian bit back a laugh.  “It’s a psychological play, gorgeous.  I thought it was clever, seeing as it matches the first two letters of your name.”

"I know what the ‘id’ is, thank you," muttered the agent with a smirk he couldn’t quite hide.  "And _you_ need to cut back on the flirting, now that you’ve committed to Azurel.”

"That’s where he’s different from you," insisted the sire.  "Flirting is in my nature and Azurel knows I can’t just turn it off like a switch. He knows I’m his, when it’s all said and done."

Idrisar gave him a dry look.  “We’ll see.  If you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to my seat, now.”

Remembering his fabricated purpose for getting up in the first place, Zevian gave the agent a courteous nod and stepped aside to let him pass.  He approached the first unoccupied stall he found and entered it to take care of business—though he didn’t really need to pee.  He emptied what little was in his bladder anyway, since he was there.  As he was washing his hands, someone knocked softly on the door and he frowned. 

"It’s occupied, friend.  There are three other lavatories you can try in this section," Zevian called.

"It’s me," answered Azurel’s voice.  "I was just wondering if you’ve ever joined the ‘mile high’ club.  I got bored waiting for you."

Zevian blinked, taking a moment to digest his statement.  When he realized what he was offering, he smirked with intrigue.  No, he’d never done _that_ before.  People these days were much more adventurous with their sex lives than they were when he and Urahis were together.  He could tell that Azurel was going to be a handful and keeping him satisfied was going to make him a busy man, indeed.

Zevian opened the door and grabbed the waiting lifebearer by the arm, pulling him into the lavatory with him quickly.  “Get in here, you crazy nympho.”

* * *

 

_Meanwhile, late night in Valkyrie Falls:_

Haden walked out the doors of the Oceanview Medical Center with Glaive at his side.  The lishere was acting like a mother bear protecting its cub and Haden couldn’t decide if it was amusing or worrying. 

"Dude, I’m fine," he insisted when Glaive put an arm around him to help him down the steps leading to the street.  "If I couldn’t walk, I would have grabbed a wheelchair and taken the ramp down.  The guy dislocated my shoulder, not my legs."

Glaive looked around with narrowed coral eyes, obviously scanning with all of his senses.  “Forgive me if I’m not quite convinced you’ve had enough recovery time, Wolfe.  You take longer to heal than a lashran and Mentor—I mean Sandman—has made it clear you’re his next target.”

"Yeah, and now I know how he fights," insisted Haden.  "I’m not some helpless damsel in distress, Glaive.  I know how to adapt and if this creep wants to throw down with me again, he’ll find he’s bitten off more than he can chew."

Glaive managed a sidelong smile for him.  “I admire your spirit, mate.  That’s part of what makes you so good.  Still, I wish you had waited ‘till daylight to demand your release.”

Haden shrugged.  “I miss my bed…and yours.  Which place are we staying at tonight, anyway?”

"Yours," answered Glaive, digging his car keys out of his pocket.  His vehicle was waiting at the pick-up curb where he’d left it and he gave it a brief scan with his spirit senses to be sure it hadn’t been meddled with while he was inside.  "Sandman probably knows where I live by now and while he may know the location of your apartment too, I think your building has a better security system than mine.  Hop in."

Haden obliged, climbing into the passenger side of the sleek car while Glaive got into the driver’s seat.  Now that they were out of public view, the lishere took a moment to reach over and comb his fingers through his partner’s perpetually tumbled-looking, sable hair and he leaned across for a kiss on the mouth.

"You’ll have to cut me some slack, love," murmured the Ulvari against Haden’s lips.  "It’s tough to play it cool when I know someone’s literally out to get you, just to get at me."

Haden returned his kiss and squeezed his knee.  “Hey, I think if our places were reversed, I’d be even worse than you are right now.  I’ll try not to give you a hard time over it.”

"Good lad," approved Glaive with a smirk. 

He put his seatbelt on and started the car, and Haden did the same.  The knight fooled with the radio as they drove through the streets and though station surfing usually annoyed Glaive, he allowed him to play.  He pulled into the parking garage of Haden’s apartment and he found a free spot just a few spaces down from Haden’s assigned parking space.  They got out of the car, both of them alert and ready to draw weapons at the slightest sense of danger.  The janitor came out of the elevator and Haden gave him a nod of recognition and greeting as he and Glaive stepped in and selected their floor.

"Well, that was about the most tense I’ve ever been in that parking garage," admitted Haden with a sigh as the elevator began to move.  "I don’t usually get shaken like this."

"The man is a psychopath," excused Glaive.  "You would have to be crazy yourself to be unaffected by his threats, Haden."

"Well, I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of losing sleep over it," decided the knight stubbornly. 

He fished his keys out of his pocket, wincing a little as the motions jarred his injured shoulder.  The healing trance had repaired the most severe damage, but the joint was still tender and the muscles and ligaments around it were stretched.  It would take another healing trance to complete the process.  He found his key and he unlocked the door, opening it with one hand and keeping the other hand hovering over the gun holstered at his hip.  Glaive likewise prepared for danger and he followed Haden in silently.

Haden relaxed once he turned on the lights and found everything as it should be.  There was no sign of any breaking and entering and a quick inspection of the living room, bedroom and kitchen revealed that the place was just like he left it. 

"I’ve got the munchies," he announced, relaxing.  "I’m going to make us a couple of sandwiches before bed."  Maybe while they ate, he could have a talk with Glaive about his past and what his family tried to pressure him into doing to fit in better.

"Sounds good," agreed Glaive.  "I’m going to take a piss."

"Crude, yet truthful."  Haden smirked and went to the fridge to start gathering ingredients.  Ordinarily he tried not to eat sooner than three hours before bed, but tonight was an exception.  He barely got the chance to spread some mustard over the bread slices before Glaive came hurrying out of the hallway, looking inordinately pale for one with his bronze skin tone.

"Pack a bag, we’re getting out of here."

Haden paused with the butter knife hovering over a slice of bread.  A drop of mustard fell from the utensil as he stared at his partner’s wide-eyed face.  “What, did you see a big roach or something?  The bug guy is supposed to come this week.  I can take care of it, if you want.”  One of the things he’d learned about Glaive was that he was a bit of a girl when it came to cockroaches.

Glaive shook his head, his shiny, silver-white ponytail swishing behind his back with the motion.  “No, just trust me.  Forget about the sandwiches and pack your shit, Haden.”

"What’s gotten into you, man?"  Haden was forced to take it seriously, as he’d never seen Glaive look quite so…spooked.  It was then that the flutter of a curtain in the living room caught his attention, visible through the big archway leading from the kitchen/dining area into it.

One of his windows was open. 

Haden put the knife down and walked toward the hallway, drawing his gun.  “Check the window in the living room,” he muttered to his partner in passing.  While Glaive complied, Haden went into the bathroom to see what had prompted the lishere to come out looking so pale.  He immediately wished he hadn’t.

There were gray and white feathers all over the place, along with drops and smears of blood.  Haden saw the cause for it when he looked at the medicine cabinet mirror.  Written in blood on the surface were the words: “ _See you soon._ "  Lying on the counter next to the sink was the corpse of a headless pigeon.  Sandman had used the animal as a bloody marker to leave a message for him.

"The window is clear," Glaive suddenly said from behind him, and Haden yelped and whirled, nearly drawing on his partner.  "Easy, love."  Glaive spoke in a calming voice, though his skin still had an ashen tint to it.  "He masked his presence when he did this.  That’s why I didn’t sense anything.  So, will you start packing now?"

"Time me," agreed Haden.  He replaced his gun.  "You call this in while I grab some things.  I guess we’ll be staying at headquarters for a while."

"I think that’s a wise plan," agreed Glaive.

* * *

    

-To be continued 


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

The first thing they did after arriving in Valkyrie Falls and getting settled in was to arrange an early morning meeting with everyone involved in the Sandman case.  Though tired and disoriented with jet-lag, Ammiteo and Idrisar were both determined to bring everyone up to speed on the details they had discovered and explain that they had a powerful collaborator from Zarn ready to assist.  Before the official meeting began, they had a private one with Director Kent in his office.  He didn’t seem very enthused about getting help from a notorious Zarnian mafia lord, but after hearing of Zevian’s connection to Sandman and considering how slippery the target was, he agreed to support the decision.  He briefed them on Agent Wolfe’s status and assured that the augmented knight was recovering from his ordeal and ready to get back into action.

They assembled the meeting in one of the boardrooms and they had coffee and bagels put out on the table for everyone, since they called them all into work early for the meeting.  When everyone was more or less settled in, Ammiteo began to brief them.

"I know everyone is tired and I’ll try to make this meeting brief and informative," said the director to the assembly.  "You were called in early today because things have changed in the Sandman case and we all need to adapt to reflect that.  Agent Blackbird?" 

He turned to Idrisar, standing behind him next to Kent.  The lifebearer pulled down the projection screen against the wall and activated the laptop sitting on the small table, along with the image projector connected to it.  An old photo of Tsyther came up on the screen, moments later.  Idrisar picked up a pointer wand and aimed it at the screen as he addressed the gathering.

"This is an image of our suspect, courtesy of the collaborator we brought back with us from Zarn.  It’s been uploaded to the classified file case and we need each and every one of you to access it with your data pads and download it for future identification references.  The man’s name is…yes, Agent Wolfe?"  Idrisar stopped and nodded at the augmented knight, who had his hand up.

"He doesn’t really look like that, anymore," explained Haden.  Beside him, his Ulvari partner nodded in agreement.  "His face has burn scars all over it from the eyes down.  I guess the structure is pretty much the same, though."

"I’ll have our rendering artist alter the photo, then," answered Idrisar.  "You’ll need to help him with the likeness, Agent."

Haden nodded and went silent.  Idrisar continued.  “The suspect’s given name is Tsyther, of Zarn.  I shouldn’t have to stress how dangerous this man is, but I’ll do it anyway.  We need you all alert at all times and you should _never_ attempt to apprehend this suspect alone.  Safety first.  If there is a sighting and your partner or associates aren’t nearby, don’t try to be a hero.  Of everyone in this room, only _one_ of us stands a chance against this man alone.”  Idrisar’s pale gaze went to Agent Glaive and everyone turned to look at him.  The lishere didn’t look a bit pleased with being singled out, but he said nothing.

Ammiteo spoke next.  “Agent Glaive is the only person who’s ever come close to killing Sandman.  The scars described by Agent Wolfe are a result of Agent Glaive’s attack on him, years ago in Zarn.  As such, I advise you all to listen to anything this man tells you about this suspect and treat him with the respect he deserves.  It will probably end up saving your life, in the end.”

Idrisar nodded in agreement and gave Kent a respectful nod, stepping back into the background while the Order of the Wolf’s director came forward to speak.  “On the subject of close encounters, one of the Order’s own agents has recently come under the Sandman’s interest.  In a bid for revenge, he’s taken it into his head to go after Agent Wolfe in an attempt to hurt Agent Glaive.  While I’m sure Wolfe is perfectly capable of taking care of himself, I still want you all to watch out for him.  In ages past, the Order was more than a knighthood.  It was a brotherhood…a family…dedicated to honor and justice.  Haden is your brother.  Protect him, as he would protect you.”

The agent in question was blushing furiously and his partner seemed to have forgotten his own discomfort in the face of amusement.

"Yes, Agent McFarlane?"  Kent nodded at Lily, who had her hand up.

"Can you tell us who this collaborator is that we’re working with, sir?"

Kent hesitated for a moment.  One the one hand, it would be better if Sandman didn’t learn that his own son was helping the alliance bring him down but on the other, word was bound to get out eventually, with Zevian and his companion staying there in headquarters.  He looked at Idrisar and Ammiteo questioningly and when they nodded their consent, he answered.

"He’s an island lord from Zarn.  His name is Zevian Saber and our suspect is his biological sire."

It became so quiet, you could have heard a pin drop.  Agent Vandrin of Nandar was the first to break the silence.  “We’re trusting the word of a _family member_ to help catch this guy?  A Zarnian mafia lord, at that?  With all due respect, have you really thought this through?”

"Mr. Saber has every reason on Wyndrah to want Tsyther captured, if not killed," assured Idrisar firmly.  "This decision was not made lightly and the director and I weighed our choices carefully before making it.  Question our judgment if you must, but the decision is final, and your director supports it."

Vandrin sighed and looked at his partner, shaking his head.  Nobody else offered criticism aloud, but the murmurs of intrigue passing through the assembly suggested plenty of people had their doubts and worries.  The three men on the podium looked at each other and when none of them indicated that they had anything further to say, they called the meeting to a close.  Idrisar reminded everyone to keep checking the case file for updates and he took his laptop and asked Haden and Glaive to come with him to the rendering technician’s office.

* * *

 

_Meanwhile, in the witness protection suite wing:_

After they finished unpacking their belongings to the closet, Zevian gave the room a sweeping glance and covered his mouth on a yawn.  “It’s no Plaza suite, but I’ll make up for it when I take you shopping.”

Azurel smiled fondly at him and he embraced him around the waist, laying his cheek against his chest trustingly.  “It’s fine.  My room at the club isn’t much bigger than this.”

Zevian stroked his hair and considered his response.  “Hmm.  Maybe when this is over, you can bring some of your things to my place.  Leave some stuff behind for when you need to stay overnight at the club, but there’s no reason you can’t stay with me otherwise.”

Azurel’s eyes widened and he pulled his head away from Zevian’s chest to look up at him, thrilled and wary at once.  “Really?  You’re giving me a drawer?”

The guild lord chuckled.  “I’m giving you a whole side of my closet,” he corrected.  “There’s plenty of space, even for _your_ wardrobe.  You seem surprised.”

"Well, I really didn’t think you were at _that_ place yet,” admitted Azurel with a grin.  “Are you sure it’s not the jet-lag talking?”

Zevian rubbed his back and shook his head.  “We’ve known each other for _three years_ , kid.  Maybe that’s not a lot in lashran terms but it’s more time than most people know each other before they start dating.  I know you won’t tear the place up and you know the rules about leaving me alone when I’m working in the study.  I think it’s safe for you to move in.”

Azurel responded to that by reaching up and cupping the back of Zevian’s head, drawing his mouth down for a kiss.  The sire gladly complied and he fought a grin.  One sure way to get a lifebearer in the mood was to show him how committed you are to him.  Getting him into bed wasn’t precisely his goal, but if the way Azurel’s tongue caressed his was any indication, that was going to be the result.

"You’ll wear me out," warned Zevian against the silky, eager lips. 

"I sincerely doubt it," replied the lifebearer. 

He began to unbutton Zevian’s vest and shirt deftly, nibbling and sucking at his lips and tongue as he commenced with exploring his body.  Zevian shrugged out of the garments when Azurel got them open and he embraced the younger man, lifting him off his feet to carry him to the bed. 

"Slow down, love," murmured the guild lord when Azurel’s efforts to undress him became slightly frantic with impatience.  Zevian slid a hand under the lifebearer’s oversized shirt to stroke his belly and chest.  "There’s no rush."

"Sorry," breathed Azurel in a husky, breathless voice.  His ruby eyes were alight with passion as he gazed up at him.  "I just want you so bad."  He accentuated the point by reaching down and cupping the growing bulge in the crotch of Zevian’s pants and he purred with delight at the size of it.

Zevian kissed him deeply and he answered his purr with a lower, deeper one of his own.  He began to fumble with Azurel’s pants and he rubbed a thigh between his legs.  The lesson in patience could wait for another time.

 

* * *

Later that morning, Ammiteo stopped by Idrisar’s office to check in on the progress of the photo manipulation.  The lifebearer called out for him to enter when he knocked on his door and Ammiteo walked in to find him on the phone.  Idrisar gave him a tired smile and held up one finger in a “wait” gesture as he wrapped up his phone conversation. 

Ammiteo had a seat at one of the visitor chairs and waited patiently as his agent finished his call.  He tried not to listen in, but Idrisar must not have minded him hearing or else he wouldn’t have invited him in.

"Yes, Sefon, I’m sure.  Things have been busy for me lately, but I won’t miss the chance to see my sons and grandchildren again.  Yes, of course.  Monday at my place, three pm.  I’ll have the guest rooms set up for you all." 

Idrisar looked at Ammiteo thoughtfully.  “Oh, and I may have a guest joining us, this time.  We’ll see.  You’ll just have to wait and find out, won’t you?  It’s only a few days to wait, I’m sure you’ll survive.  Oh?  Let me talk to him, then.”

Idrisar waited a moment and then his face seemed to light up.  “Hello, little archer!  I heard about your trophy.  That’s amazing!  Yes, please do…I’d love to see it.  You’re taking good care of your little brother, aren’t you?”  He looked at Ammiteo and winked, covering the mouthpiece of the phone to mutter: “My oldest grandson, Donovan.  He won a junior archery competition.”

Ammiteo couldn’t resist smiling back.  Just witnessing how Idrisar interacted with his family over the phone proved what a marvelous parent he was.  An unbidden image of the man nurturing a baby of his own siring sprung to Ammiteo’s mind suddenly, immediately sobering him.  That image could never happen…even if he and Idrisar got together as he hoped.  The lifebearer was past his childbearing years and he’d already _done_ his childrearing…most of it alone.  To even contemplate trying to start a new family with him was selfish.  He’d gone all this time without ever putting children on his list of things he needed to have in his life, and he refused to allow biological responses to scramble his priorities. 

"Okay, rugrat.  Mind your parents and keep practicing your archery.  I’ll see you after the weekend.  I love you too, Donny.  Give Clint a hug and a kiss for me."

Idrisar ended the call and sighed.  He looked up from the phone at Ammiteo and he hesitated for a moment.  “I may have just booked you in to have dinner with my family, Monday evening.  Please don’t feel obligated, sir.  I just thought with everything that’s happened recently, we could both use a relaxing night off—well, as relaxing as it _can_ be with three young children underfoot, but still, it’s the thought that counts.”

Ammiteo didn’t hesitate.  “I would love to come.  Thank you for the thoughtful invitation, Agent Blackbird.”

The lifebearer seemed to relax, his smile returning.  “I’m glad.  As soon as I said it, I was worried I might have overstepped myself.”

Ammiteo could have told him that wasn’t possible with him, but he wasn’t in the habit of sucking up on a regular basis.  He cleared his throat and reminded himself that he’d come to this office for business, not pleasure.  “So, what is the status on the photo manipulation?”

"It’s finished," answered Idrisar.  He gestured at his open laptop.  "Come and see the results yourself.  Agents Glaive and Wolfe personally oversaw the manipulation for accuracy, since they’ve been the only people to see Sandman up close without his mask on."

Ammiteo moved around to the other side of the desk and he peered over Idrisar’s shoulder to have a look.  The lifebearer’s scent was a pleasant, subtle distraction but he didn’t allow it to drag away his focus.  “That’s good work,” he approved.  “I wouldn’t have guessed it was digitally manipulated, if I didn’t know first-hand.” 

He turned his head toward Idrisar at the same moment the lifebearer turned his head toward him.  Their actions put their mouths less than an inch apart and for several heartbeats, they both remained motionless, staring into one another’s eyes.  Ammiteo forced the words out of his mouth first—and it was just a repetition of what he’d already said.

"Good work, Idrisar."  His voice came out as a husky murmur of desire.

"I didn’t alter the photo," whispered the agent softly, not addressing the fact that the bigger man had just used his given name.  His eyes began to glow subtly behind the lenses of his glasses.  He was wearing the oval pair today…the ones with the polarized lenses that darkened in the sunlight. 

"But it was your idea to have it done."  Ammiteo wasn’t even fully aware of what he was saying, anymore.  He could feel Idrisar’s breath on his lips and he slowly and inexorably began to close the tiny distance between them. 

"It just…seemed like the logical thing…to do."  Idrisar shut his eyes and when Ammiteo’s mouth covered his, he didn’t protest. 

Ammiteo caressed Idrisar’s face as he kissed him with slow tenderness, showing him that despite his intimidating size and strength, he could be quite gentle with his partners.  Idrisar seemed to approve.  He took his hand off the touch pad of his laptop and he reached up to slide his fingers through the sire’s gel-spiked hair, loosening some of the locks from their product-stiffened state.  He caressed Ammiteo’s left ear as he parted his lips to allow his tongue to go in. 

For all his aggression on the field and commanding presence in the workplace, Idrisar’s actions were gently erotic…bordering on submissive without completely offering up total control.  The interesting contradiction was an enormous turn on for Ammiteo.  The play of his tongue was almost teasing, but inviting.  It seemed to invite Ammiteo to take full advantage of his mouth and claim it.  His lips were soft but not slack against his, animated without being aggressive. 

Deciding that too much more of this would lead to further inappropriate behavior on his part, Ammiteo reluctantly slowed his explorations of the lifebearer’s sweet, warm mouth and ended the kiss. 

"I know we agreed not to do that sort of thing while this case is still unresolved," murmured the director, his body trembling faintly with almost painful desire.  He couldn’t remember the last time a kiss affected him this way.  "I apologize for that, Agent.  My exhaustion claimed the better part of my common sense."

"I didn’t stop you," reminded Idrisar with a quiet, kiss-swollen smirk.  "If anything, I encouraged it.  You don’t need to apologize.  I think perhaps we both wanted to finish the kiss we nearly shared in Zarn."

Ammiteo nodded in agreement, glad beyond words that he wasn’t offended.  “At least this time, you didn’t laugh.”

Idrisar chuckled and as if on impulse, he gave him another kiss…briefer this time.  “I think under the circumstances, we can let this one slide.  I…wouldn’t object to more of those, if we can restrain ourselves and ensure it goes no further than a kiss.”

Ammiteo was happy with that, but the state of his groin was a rude reminder that for now, it was best not to tempt fate.  He took Idrisar’s hands in his and squeezed them gently.  “I don’t trust myself to do that again, right now.  I think we should both have an early day, since we’ve done all we can regarding this new information and the case.  We’re no good to this department if our judgment is crippled by exhaustion.”

Usually not one to compromise work for rest, Idrisar agreed.  “You’re right.  There are times when one must admit they’ve reached the limit.  I’ll do my rounds and then I’ll call it a day.”

"I’ll do the same," agreed Ammiteo.

* * *

 

_Meanwhile at Avras alliance headquarters:_

"That poor bird."

Glaive paused in the action of turning down his side of the bed and he frowned at his partner.  “Come again?”

"That pigeon he used to write the bloody message," elaborated the human with another sigh.  He finished undressing and he tossed his clothes in the laundry basket by the closet.  "I mean, what did the _bird_ do to deserve that?”

Glaive stared at him, his admiration for his toned nudity tempered with absolute mystification.  “Mate, are you mourning a _bird_?”

"Well, it’s my fault it’s dead," answered Haden, shrugging.  He climbed into the bed that they would be sharing until the case was closed and he fluffed the borrowed pillows.  "The poor thing was probably just pecking for crumbs, minding its own business and _BAM!_ Super psycho snatches it up and tears its head off.  Hasn’t the dude ever heard of using a marker?”

Glaive snorted, but then he realized Haden actually felt _bad_ about it and he refrained from laughing at him.  He climbed into bed beside him and urged him into his arms.  “Come here.  You’re being ridiculous.”

"Hey, I like animals," protested the knight.  "That shit was just uncalled for, you know?"

Glaive sighed.  He kissed the sensitive, frowning mouth and gazed into Haden’s pale eyes.  “It was a pigeon, love.   A filthy, disease-ridden trash bird.  If it makes you feel any better, the thing probably didn’t get the chance to feel more than a moment of surprise before it was dead.  Look on the bright side…it might have given fuck-face some lice for his troubles.”

"Hmph…I don’t think an itchy scalp would slow him down much, but it would be poetic justice."  Haden sighed and threw an arm over Glaive’s torso.  "You think I’m dumb, admit it."

"If I thought you were ‘dumb’, I wouldn’t be here with you now," corrected Glaive.  He stroked the other man’s broad shoulders soothingly.  "What I think you are is a man possessed of one of the purest hearts I’ve ever seen, Haden.  Anyone that can bring himself to feel compassion for a filthy pigeon is a better man than I."

Haden managed a smile at last and he nuzzled the lishere’s neck.  “Thanks for not picking on me too much.  I guess I figure anyone that would casually snatch up a small animal and kill it just to leave a message probably won’t stop at much.  The guy clearly doesn’t have a conscience.  Oh, and that reminds me…he said your parents tried to make you live as a lifebearer?  What was _that_ all about?”

"The truth," sighed Glaive.  "My family thought it would be easier if I just pretended to be a lifebearer.  Surgically cropping my ears so that they would appear round wouldn’t have been too much of a hassle, but there was no way to alter the shape of my pupils.  It calls to question how many ‘lifebearers’ out there are actually lishere in hiding." 

"No wonder you took off," muttered Haden.  It must have been pretty easy for Sandman to convince you to try his path."

"It was, and you’re right.  This man has no conscience, whatever name we choose to give him.  He was once very charismatic though.  He knew how to talk to the beaten down and the rejected.  He knew how to convince us to join his cause.  I endured suffering at his hands, believing it to be the path to enlightenment.  That was how convincing he was."

Haden stroked his hand over Glaive’s abdomen.  “So what finally convinced you to go after him like that?”

"He left me," answered Glaive with a shrug.  "All this talk of building a new world together, and the man just up and left, one day.  Without his influence, I started to think more clearly and during the time he was gone, he left a trail of bodies.  Nothing wakes one up to the truth of a man’s madness like following the corpses he left behind."

Haden grimaced.  “Yeah, that would do it.  So you decided to take him out because he was such a danger to society?”

"I didn’t really give a toss about ‘society’," answered Glaive without apology, "but some of his kills were former ‘pupils’ of his like me.  They apparently didn’t make the cut and he decided to punish them with death.  I realized he was just as likely to turn on me and when I confronted him, everything just came to the surface.  I never knew I had that much rage in me, until he pushed me to it.  Fortunately for me, the elemental shield I had in place was strong enough to protect me as I fled."

"Wait…fled?"

Glaive nodded.  “You don’t drop a bomb at someone’s feet and hang around to watch it go off, Haden.  As soon as I pulled that energy together and loosed it at him, I called the wind to assist my exit before it went off.  A year later, I joined the Ulvari-vash and I’ve been with them ever since.  As much as I disdain most of them for their prejudice, they gave me purpose again…they gave me direction.  I learned that there was more than one way to change the world…or at least give the appearance of trying.”

Haden considered the information carefully.  “So you never have any contact with your family at all?”

Glaive shrugged.  “I’m sure if I had any siblings, I’d be in touch with them.  As it stands, my parents made it clear to me that they wanted nothing to do with me, if I didn’t do things their way and try to be ‘normal’.  My uncle in Rhuidhim was the one to give them that idea in the first place, so should I ever see _him_ again, I’d sooner punch him in the face than speak to him.  They’re happy not knowing where I am and I’m happy not telling them.”

Haden sighed.  “I can relate.  Well, at least we’ve got our guilds and each other, right?”

Glaive gave him a lingering kiss.  “Right.”

As they settled down to sleep, the lishere tried not to think of Haden’s remark about how determined there enemy must be to get at him.  Nobody had ever hurt Tsyther the way he had and Glaive was certain this was just the beginning.

* * *

 

-To be continued


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

**_Author’s note:_ ** _A word on use of “Dad”, “Papa” and other terms customarily referring to the male parent in human families: these terms can be interchangeable with lashran, depending on the household.  Some lashran refer to both parents as “Dad”, except when both are present and they need to specifically address one or the other—in which case, they refer to them as “Sire” and “Father”.  Nobody has ever asked yet, but I thought it would be prudent to explain it just in case there is any head-scratching going on._

* * *

 

There wasn’t a lot of action over the weekend, but a lot of case research was conducted.  While Azurel spent his daylight hours touring the city—under guard, of course—Zevian cooperated with the agents, explaining to them in detail the way his sire thought, the things he used to enjoy doing in his spare time and the kind of places he used to frequent.  Glaive agreed with some of the things he said, having come to know a few of Sandman’s habits during his time as his “pupil”.

"There’s only one problem," Glaive said after some thought.  "I doubt he’ll be showing his face in public more than he can help, and I know for a fact that he wipes it from the memory of anyone he encounters."

Zevian sighed and absently twirled a coin between his fingers as the other agents at the circular meeting table looked to him for advice.  “Get someone to check the callout records of every brothel within a hundred miles of here, for a start.  The old man might be psycho, but he’s still got a sex drive and he’s bound to get—” He looked around the room at the women and Idrisar, quickly reconsidering his choice of words.  “—lonely, sooner or later.  With the hits he’s been taking, he probably has the money to order some ‘takeout company’ without ever having to show his charbroiled face.  He’ll probably wipe the sex worker’s memory of what he looks like, as Agent Glaive suggested.  You still might get a lead, though.” 

"What sort of company does he normally prefer to keep?" asked Kent.

"If he can’t get a lifebearer, he’ll take a sire," answered Zevian.  "Or a lishere, for that matter."

Everyone looked at Glaive and he narrowed his eyes.  “No.  Before any of you even _think_ of asking, the answer is no.  My relationship with him never involved any of his ‘special bits’ mingling with mine, so you can all stop leering at me now.”

There were a couple of soft chuckles, but a stern, sweeping look from both Ammiteo and Idrisar quickly sobered people’s amusement.

The Ulvari director spoke next.  “We should get people onto that right away.  What else can you suggest, Mr. Saber?”

Zevian rolled the edge of the coin over the lacquered surface of the table, staring at it without really seeing it.  “Do you have horse racing here?”

"Yes," answered Kent and Malcolm at the same time.  "There’s a track outside the west side of town," finished the dark-skinned agent.  "They just had their fall cup."  

"Have that place watched by someone," suggested the mafia lord.  "Someone who can be discreet."

People looked to Idrisar this time, and Zevian immediately vetoed the idea.  “Not him.  He’s already had run-in with him.  You need someone he won’t recognize as an agent to watch the place.”

"I have a couple of agents that haven’t been on the field in this case," offered Kent.  "Otherwise, we may need a transfer from another county department."

"What about a Bargel agent?" Haden suggested.  "Even the ones he’s seen before could use an illusion or something to disguise themselves."

"He can see through those," Glaive said.

Haden swore softly and scratched his head, searching his cranium for other ideas.

"You’re probably best off sending for an outside agent," Zevian said grimly.  "You really have no idea how many of your people he’s seen and even if he assumes they’re just at the racetrack to gamble, he’ll be on alert the moment he recognizes them."

"Bear in mind, we’re dealing with a man that uses more than five senses," Glaive warned.  "Everyone has a sixth sense, but for those with spirit singing abilities, it’s much more attuned.  Short of sorcerers and _some_ Ulvari agents, not many on Wyndrah can come close to matching it.”

"If you do say so yourself," snorted Vandrin with a disdainful look at the lishere.

Zevian frowned at him and stopped fiddling with the coin.  “What’s your problem, kid?”

The silver-haired agent looked a little flustered and he glanced at his muscular director before answering the guild lord.  “I don’t have a problem.”

"Yes, you do," corrected Zevian in a stern, even voice.  "Your attitude."

Ammiteo tensed in his seat, but Idrisar made a subtle gesture that stalled him from taking action as his younger cousin had a stare-down with the Zarnian mobster.

"I don’t have an attitude," insisted Vandrin.  He seemed to be wavering under that steady aqua gaze.  "And you’re here to assist us on this case, not stick your Zarnian nose in where it—"

Zevian made a flicking motion with his hand and the glass by Vandrin’s hand cracked and broke a second later, interrupting his comment.  He grunted and put a hand over his rib cage, before pulling it away and holding up the coin that Zevian had been toying with, moments ago.  He stared at it, at the glass, and at the spot where it struck his torso after going through and he looked back at Zevian with pure shock on his face.  Everyone else followed suit.  To throw small objects with such piercing force generally required specialized training.  Zevian’s gaze didn’t waver.

"My old man trained with the Ulvari," explained the guild lord evenly, "and he taught me a few things, before he went completely off the deep end.  Don’t piss me off."

Idrisar was the first to recover.  “We explained to you all the importance of pulling together and respecting Agent Glaive’s advice, as well as the advice of this man.”  He gestured at Zevian.  “I think Mr. Saber just provided us with a very poignant reminder: nothing is exactly what it seems to be.  We can’t presume _anything_ when it comes to our suspect and we can’t afford to cast stones at each other.”

Ammiteo and Kent both agreed, and the human director stood up and said his own piece.  “If any of you feel you can’t work on this case under these conditions, there’s the door.”  He gestured at said door.  “Haul ass out of it and leave your casework behind.  We’ve got no room for slackers and no time for petty bickering.  Is anyone unclear on that?”

Nobody challenged him.

* * *

 

"I must say, I was surprised by what you did at the table," Idrisar informed Zevian when the meeting ended and everyone except himself, Zevian and Ammiteo had left the room.

"Why so surprised?"  Zevian shrugged.  "According to Tsyther, a lot of Ulvari use the same technique when using darts."

"We do," agreed Idrisar, "but I wasn’t expecting _you_ to know how to do that.”

Zevian grinned and winked at him.  “Like you said; things aren’t always what they seem. Gods know I’ve been around long enough to learn a few tricks, even if I’ve never mastered them the way you have.”

Idrisar smirked.  “Well, you gave Agent Vandrin something to think about.  Well done.”

"So he’s usually a troublemaker, eh?"

The lifebearer and Ammiteo exchanged a look of shared exasperation, and the director answered.  “Vandrin has some maturity and social issues to work through.  When he’s doing fieldwork, he tends to do well.  When it comes to paperwork or working with people off the field, however, his performance goes down.”

"I’ve got a few people like that myself.  Sometimes a little tough love does the trick and sometimes, you’ve just got to let them go."

"I think that would be a bit hasty," said Idrisar with a look at Ammiteo’s troubled face.  "We can usually bring him to heel quickly and most of his coworkers know better than to take him seriously when he runs off at the mouth."

Zevian regarded him thoughtfully, glancing at Ammiteo briefly before returning his gaze to Idrisar.  “Huh.  I would never peg you as the sort to make excuses for shitty work ethic, Blackbird.”

"We’re short-handed enough as it is," answered the lifebearer coolly.  "Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to train.  Director, would you like to join me?"

 ”Of course,” agreed Ammiteo  “I’ll just drop off my paperwork at my office on the way.”  He nodded politely at Zevian.  “We’ll be in contact with you if we get any results from the most recent searches.  For now, all we can do is stay vigilant and wait.  I suggest you take this time to enjoy the sights and entertainment of the city, before anything happens.”

"Yes," agreed Idrisar, "because once he’s found, rest and leisure won’t be a commodity any of us can afford."

"Well said," agreed Zevian.  He checked his watch.  "Unless he’s drifted off course, Azurel should be at the aquarium right now.  I guess I’ll go and meet him there."

Idrisar smiled faintly.  “You’re keeping rather close tabs on him.”

"I protect what’s mine," answered Zevian without hesitation.  

When Idrisar gave him a look that suggested he thought he was a knuckle-dragger, he gave a meaningful glance at the muscular sire that was gathering up his paperwork from the table.  “Tell me you don’t do the same,” he muttered with a sly grin.  “I dare you.  It’s got nothing to do with ear shape and you know it.”

"I think in your case, it might have at least a _little_ to do with ear shape,” countered Idrisar softly, “but I can’t expect you to completely shut off your instincts.  You’re right, though.  I protect what matters to me.”  He glanced at Ammiteo and lowered his eyes, smiling a little.

Zevian wondered if he’d ever stop feeling the stirrings of jealousy when he saw Idrisar look like that about another man, but he didn’t beat himself up over it.  His loyalty was to Azurel now, as Idrisar’s loyalty was apparently to Ammiteo.  Their lingering attraction for one another didn’t need to be an issue unless they allowed it to. 

* * *

 

They both changed into blue track pants and black singlet shirts for the workout session and after doing some stretching, they claimed one of the large sparring mats in the gymnastics area.  Idrisar quickly demonstrated how much faster he was than Ammiteo, but he wasn’t cocky about it and Ammiteo didn’t resent him for his skills.  If anything, it encouraged the director to brush up on his martial combat.  He spent too much time behind a desk, lifting weights and doing calisthenics and not enough time practicing his fighting technique. 

"You’re too slow, sir."  Idrisar’s eyes twinkled with subtle mischief, hinting that he was teasing more than criticizing. 

Ammiteo tried to get past his guard again, feinting with a right hook and kicking out with his left knee.  Idrisar blocked his punch and turned aside smoothly to avoid his kick.  It was hard not to let the lifebearer’s amazing coordination and grace distract him.  Idrisar seemed to glide effortlessly when he moved. 

"Maybe I should get out on the field more often," grunted the director.  "I’m out of practice against opponents with real skill."

Idrisar’s mouth curved into a brief, flattered little smile, but he didn’t allow the compliment to his technique distract him.  “I’m happy to provide you with as much sparring as you like, Director.”

Ammiteo was confident that he wasn’t imagining the covert flirtation behind those words, now that he knew Idrisar reciprocated his feelings.  The agent had flirted in code with him more than once before, but he always assumed it wasn’t on purpose.  Idrisar was a man of class, and it showed in everything he did.  Ammiteo didn’t think he possessed Idrisar’s natural sensuality and wit, but he tried to reciprocate anyhow, aware that there were other people within hearing range in the spacious gym. 

"I’ll gladly accept your offer and take whatever time you can give me, Agent Blackbird."  He narrowly avoided a kick to the head—though he knew Idrisar wouldn’t have done more than clipped him if he’d failed to dodge it.  "You always keep me guessing."

There was a brief flash of amusement in those pale blue eyes.  “Guesswork is a big part of it…for _both_ sparring partners.” 

He suddenly dropped low and swept one leg out.  Ammiteo didn’t _quite_ hop over it soon enough and he again ended up on his back, with the breath knocked out of him.  Idrisar was straddling him before he could fully comprehend what had happened, and the lifebearer held a fist to the side of his throat in a grasping gesture, as if he were holding a weapon.  

"The question is, sir," murmured the agent in a slightly winded tone, "what do you do when your opponent gets you on your back and puts a knife to your throat, or a gun to your head?"  Idrisar’s knees were pressing down uncomfortably on Ammiteo’s forearms just above the wrists, on either side of his body.  The director’s hands were already going numb and it effectively hampered his ability to try and escape the pin-down, despite the fact that his opponent was smaller and lighter than he was. 

Ammiteo blinked up at Idrisar and searched for an answer, but the feel of him straddling him and the way he was looking down at him was distracting.  It was on the tip of Ammiteo’s tongue to say he supposed kissing the enemy was out of the question.  He somehow pulled his wits together and remembered his place as head of the guild.  Undercover flirtation aside, this was a sparring match and he needed to prove he could concentrate on the prime objective, even with the undercurrent of sexual tension.

"Considering I can’t match the speed of this particular opponent, I’ll have to rely on my other attributes."

Idrisar’s eyes dropped for a brief moment and Ammiteo was stricken by an inappropriate urge to laugh out loud.  He certainly wasn’t referring to _those_ attributes and the way Idrisar hastily raised his eyes again suggested the lifebearer hadn’t meant to let his mind wander in that direction.  He used the distraction to his advantage, though he knew a “real” opponent wouldn’t have been waylaid by smutty thoughts over the wording of a sentence.

It was Idrisar’s turn to be taken by surprise as Ammiteo demonstrated the raw, brute strength of his powerful body and heaved the smaller man off of him.  Though his hands and wrists were numbed from the pressure of Idrisar’s knees, he retained enough feeling in them to grapple with the lifebearer and catch his wrists before he could retaliate.  Now _he_ was the one straddling _Idrisar_ , and though he probably would have tried to roll a true enemy onto his stomach and pin his arms behind his back, he held the agents’ wrists over his head instead and stared into his startled blue eyes.  Idrisar’s dark bangs had partially fallen over his right eye and the lifebearer shook them out of the way and stared back up at Ammiteo, breathing heavily with exertion.

"Well done, sir."

There was something in his eyes and tone that seemed to say: _"Well, now that you have me, what will you do with me?"_

The director swallowed subtly, remembering the presence of others and all too aware that holding Agent Blackbird down like this for very long would quickly result in an embarrassing condition—one that would be fairly obvious to everyone in the track pants.  Trying not to think too much about how great these brief, intimate encounters with Idrisar felt, Ammiteo released his wrists and got up, offering him a hand.

"Thank you," said the lifebearer graciously.  "There aren’t many men who could dislodge me like that, once I’ve got them down."  Was the light flush in his cheeks due to exertion, or something else?

"I’m fortunate to have brute strength to fall back on," said the director dryly.  "Unfortunately, it’s my skill I need to work on."

"And we will," promised Idrisar.  He offered his hand for a shake.  "Good match, sir."

"Agreed."  Ammiteo shook the offered hand.  "Shall we do weights next?"

"That sounds good."

They left the sparring area and those who witnessed their session couldn’t say that either man had actually flirted…though some of the more observant staff noticed the sexual tension between them.  Ulvari agents passed it off as a natural response to wrestling with a lifebearer as attractive as Idrisar, while Knight agents considered lashran business none of their concern—even if they were curious.

* * *

 

They arranged for a transfer agent to come in from Rhuidhim for the job of keeping an eye on the racetrack and the possibility of luring Sandman into a trap.  They weren’t able to procure an Ulvari agent at short notice, but the sorcery guild was sending an agent who had experience working with the Bargel authorities on Avras.  The weekend passed and Monday came around.  Idrisar had the day off to be with his visiting family members and Ammiteo took a half-day.  He could have justified taking a whole day off, but he honestly couldn’t think of anything to do with himself until it was time for him to go to Idrisar’s place for dinner.  In lieu of sitting around watching the minutes tick by, he did some file work, followed by a workout and some combat training.

Vandrin came in for a workout just as Ammiteo was finishing up and heading for the showers.  The younger man nodded at him and greeted him.  “Hey boss, what’s up?”

Ammiteo wiped the sweat from his brow with the towel around his neck.  “I’m about to finish up here and leave for the rest of the day.  If you have any further questions about the case, Agent Glaive can answer them for you.”

Vandrin frowned.  “I’ll pass.  That lishere is holed up in the living quarters with his partner, instead of working like the rest of us.  What the hell is up with that?”

"Protecting his partner _is_ part of his job, now,” reminded Ammiteo.  “Sandman is going to try and get to Agent Wolfe, if he can.  Of everyone we have here, Agent Glaive stands the best chance of defeating his intentions, if he somehow gets through our security.”

Vandrin raised his pale brows.  “You really think Sandman can break into this place?  HQ is a _fortress_ , man.  We’ve got people here twenty-four-seven.”

"After what happened with Dr. Adder, I’m not willing to leave it up to chance and neither is Director Kent," reminded Ammiteo.  "We had every available security measure in place for the last target we tried to protect from Sandman, yet he still managed to get to the doctor and if it weren’t for Agent Blackbird, he would have succeeded."

Vandrin smirked.  “Not to diss the resident hottie’s skills, but Dr. Adder made it out of that alive because the hit was called off…not because Blackbird defeated Sandman.”

"And if the agent in question hadn’t suspected something was wrong and acted, Sandman would have finished the job before the hit was called off."  Ammiteo crossed powerful arms across his barrel-like chest and stared down the other spiky-haired sire, unsmiling.  "I’ll also remind you once more to address your colleagues in a professional manner; regardless of race, gender or reproductive status.  If I hear you refer to Agent Blackbird in a demeaning or objectifying way again, I’ll have you suspended and knocked completely off the list of promotion candidates for the rest of the year."

Vandrin stared at him.  “You can’t be serious.”

"I am," assured the bigger sire.  "You’re a good enough agent when you’re in the field, but you can’t keep alienating the lifebearers in this department by treating them as your personal entertainment—especially the ones who are better at their jobs than _you_ are.  I’ve let you get away with too much because you’re my cousin, but no more.  It’s time for you to buckle down, act your age and show some work ethic.”

The younger sire stood stunned, but he looked away when presented with the director’s icy, challenging stare.  Cousin or not, Vandrin knew when he was pushing his luck with Ammiteo and now was one of those times.  Satisfied that he’d made his point without causing a scene in front of anyone, Ammiteo left the troublesome agent to think about the warning.  A brief, subtle smile curved his lips as he entered the showers and selected a stall.  Family pressure and obligations had held him back from exerting full authority over Vandrin for too long, and it felt good to put the blood ties on the shelf and remind him of his place in the guild.

* * *

 

Idrisar checked the clock for perhaps the seventh time since he realized Ammiteo was due to arrive soon.  The roast was in the oven and ingredient preparations for the rest of the meal were complete.  His sons alternately helped him in the kitchen and kept the little ones from being underfoot.  There mates were out getting some port for the occasion, since Idrisar forgot all about stocking anything besides the cinnamon flavored liqueur he sometimes indulged in after a long day. 

Sefon demonstrated that like his father, he was an observant lifebearer.  He noticed the way Idrisar’s gaze kept sliding to the clock hanging on the kitchen wall and he regarded him curiously.  “Your guest should be arriving soon, shouldn’t he Father?”

Idrisar nodded and started to mix the Nandarian style goulash in the pot.  “Soon.  Pass that bowl of sea salt this way, would you?”

Sefon obliged and he watched as his father collected a few pinches of salt from the bowl and added it to the mixture.  The younger lifebearer tucked away a loose strand of dark red hair that had escaped from the ponytail he’d bound the hip-length mass into.  “So, who _is_ this guest of yours, anyway?  You never told us.”

Idrisar glanced sidelong at him and he sprinkled some granules of imported garlic into the stew.  “He’s my boss.”

"Oh."

The agent looked up from the food again.  “’ _Oh’;_ what?”

His son shrugged and busied himself with glazing the dessert dumplings.  “Nothing.  I just think it’s a little odd.  Someone else might invite their boss to a family dinner because they’re fishing for a promotion, but that isn’t the kind of person you are.”

"You’re right, I’m not."  Idrisar transferred the pot to the stovetop and turned on the heating coil. 

"Then why did you invite him?"  Sefon was doing his best to look and sound casual, but Idrisar could see the gears turning behind those gray eyes. 

Idrisar began chopping the fresh, washed mushrooms for the salad.  “Because he’s been working very hard to pull my department together and I thought it would be nice to show him it’s appreciated.  Is there a reason you need to know?” 

He heard the slap of bare feet on the wooden floor of the dining room and he frowned in the direction of the archway leading out from the kitchen.  “No running in the dining room,” he called out, reminding his grandsons of the rule again.  “Take it outside in the back yard or keep it confined to the basement!”

"Sorry, Granddad," apologized the oldest boy, Seth.  "Clint got away from us!"

Idrisar exchanged a look with Sefon.  Bowen was supposed to be watching the children, not leaving the oldest two to watch the youngest.  “Seth, where is your sire at?’

"He had to go poo."

  Idrisar tried not to laugh and failed.  He snorted and compressed his lips, while Sefon rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath that his brother could have come and gotten him before locking himself in the bathroom.

"I’m sure they can’t get into too much trouble," soothed Idrisar to his annoyed son.  "At least for a few minutes.  Finish up what you were doing and I’ll—"

There was a knock at the front door at that moment and Idrisar looked down at his food-soiled hands and then toward the archway. 

"I’ll get it!" Seth cried. 

The agent almost stopped him, but he stopped himself under the supposition that the nine year old couldn’t possibly cause _too_ much damage by letting Ammiteo in. 

* * *

 

Ammiteo had seen Idrisar’s house a few times in passing, but he’d never really taken time to appreciate it before.  It was in an older but well-kept part of the city, in a nice neighborhood where housing dominated the city blocks rather than apartment buildings.  It was a dark brick, two-story home on a foundation, with a front porch decorated with hanging plants, a black iron fence encompassing the property and a small back yard.  The landscaping was nice around the house, with a couple of imported rose bushes growing on either side of the steps leading up the porch.  The stacked chimney matched the rest of the house and Ammiteo could easily imagine his favorite agent curled up on the elegant old loveseat before the fireplace in the den, sipping tea and reading the newspaper.  He smiled at the image and rang the bell.  The chimes that sounded from within the home were melodic and resonating, their elegant tone matching the house.

"I’ll get it!" hollered a child’s voice from within the house.  Ammiteo detected a Nandarian accent, though the shout was in Avran. 

The careless thumps of more than one pair of feet approached the door rapidly from the other side and Ammiteo marveled at how such small beings could sound like a herd of beasts when they ran.  There were a few clicks from the other side as the heavy oaken door was unlocked, and then it opened to reveal not one, but two little sires between the ages of eight and ten years old.  The one who apparently pulled the door open had straight golden hair kept trimmed to his collar and blue eyes, while his companion behind him had curly red-gold hair and green eyes.  They both craned their necks looking up at the director with slack mouths and wide eyes.

"Hello," greeted Ammiteo awkwardly, doing his best to appear non-intimidating to the children.  "I’m here to see your grandfather.  May I come in?"

They stared at him for a few moments, before the redhead gathered the wits to turn and shout an announcement to the occupants of the house.  “Granddad, there’s some really _big_ guy here for you!”

Ammiteo covered his mouth subtly to hide a grin when he heard Idrisar’s voice blurt a dismayed response to the child’s guileless shout.  “Donovan!  That’s no way to announce a guest!”

Within moments, Idrisar came hurrying to the door, wiping his hands on a tea towel he held in them.  He was wearing a pair of gray denim pants, a flannel shirt of green and blue colors and a pair of knee-high black lace-up winter boots.  He looked really good in the casual, woodsy outfit…like he should be in a cabin somewhere, getting ready to ski.  He was wearing his glasses and there was a smudge of flour on the right lens.  He gave his grandsons a chastising look before ushering them aside and smiling up at Ammiteo.  “Please excuse them.  Kids…you know…”

"Tend to say exactly what’s on their mind," finished Ammiteo for him with a little smirk, "unlike we adults, who exchange hints and suppositions.  Here, I brought this.  I hope it’s all right."

Idrisar draped the tea towel over his left arm and took the offered bottle of champagne.  He gave it a cursory examination and smiled at the sire again.  “Thank you.  This will be fine, I’m sure.  Please, come inside and take your coat off.  Oh, do you like port?”

"I’ve never tried it," confessed Ammiteo as he followed him inside, feeling horribly unsophisticated.  Even disheveled, Idrisar managed to ooze class.  He wondered how he did that.

"Well, it’s a bit like wine, but sweeter and thicker.  Here, let me take that for you."  Idrisar held an arm out for the black coat Ammiteo had just shrugged out of, and the director relinquished it to him.

Again, Ammiteo was caught feeling like an uncultured oaf.  “I…don’t usually drink wine, either.  I had to ask the lady at the liquor shop to pick out a bottle of appropriate champagne for me, in fact.”

"I see."  Idrisar looked a little lost for something to say, but he recovered quickly.  "I remember you having some whisky, the night of Director Kent’s birthday bash at the Jolly Whistler.  I’ll just make a quick phone call to one of my son in laws and ask them to pick some up, while they’re out."

"You don’t need to go through the trouble on my account," assured Ammiteo uncomfortably, "I’m sure I’ll enjoy the port and champagne and if not, I can do without alcoholic beverages."

Idrisar shook his head stubbornly.  “I’d be a poor host if I didn’t offer something you like to drink.  It’s really no trouble.  Just have a seat in the den and relax while I put your coat away and make the call.”  Idrisar turned with grace few could match, he somehow avoided stepping on a toddler that managed to creep up behind him while he was talking. 

"Clint," gasped the lifebearer, "you’ll make a fine Ulvari agent, some day.  Here, this is my friend Ammiteo.  Would you like to say ‘hello’?"

Idrisar moved aside to reveal a small sire in a pair of pull-up diapers, with curly, light brown hair and gray eyes.  The toddler looked up at Ammiteo with wide eyes, just like his older counterparts had.  He promptly hid behind Idrisar’s legs and stuck his thumb into his mouth.

"He’s a little shy with strangers," excused Idrisar helplessly.  "Please don’t take it personally."

Ammiteo smiled at the little boy, used to this kind of reaction.  “It’s fine.  I must appear as a giant to small children, because they usually react this way to me at first.”

"And yet I feel safe in guessing that you’re the first one they run to for protection, if they find a bug of some sort."  Idrisar’s soft smile was sincere.

Ammiteo shrugged, not denying it.  “Giants tend to make good bug stompers.”

Idrisar laughed softly and shifted the champagne bottle to the other hand to reach down and stroke his grandson’s curly hair.  “Clinton, why don’t you go into the living room with your brother and cousin, now?  I hear them moving around in there.”

"Here Father, I’ll take him."  A lifebearer came out of the hallway and while Ammiteo recognized his face from a couple of the framed photos on Idrisar’s desk, he marveled at the length of the dark red ponytail that was hanging over his right shoulder and down his chest.  He bent over and pried the child off of Idrisar’s leg before scooping him up with a grunt.  "So, this is your boss, is he?"  His gray-blue eyes scanned Ammiteo up and down and they were difficult to read. 

"Yes.  Sefon, this is Ammiteo.  Director, this is my youngest son Sefon.  The older one should be out soon and I’ll introduce you then."

"Pleasure."  Sefon reached out to shake Ammiteo’s hand with a smile of greeting, before giving his father a covertly curious glance.  "Dad, after I put Clint with the other children, I think I need your help with something in the kitchen."

"Of course.  I’ll just put Ammiteo’s coat away and get him something to drink, first.  Oh, and I need to call Lasaverus and Nithander to ask them to pick up some whisky while they’re out, too."

"Lasaverus will pick some up anyway," promised Sefon.  "It’s his favorite spirit, you know.  He won’t drink the port."

"Well, that’s one problem solved."  Idrisar turned to Ammiteo.  "Please, have a seat.  I can pour you a glass of this champagne if you like."

It wasn’t normally Ammiteo’s policy to mix spirits with beer or other drinks, but given how tense he was feeling, he wasn’t in the mood to be picky.  “I’ll give it a try, thanks.”

* * *

 

After seeing to Ammiteo, Idrisar joined his son in the kitchen and he looked around in perplexity.  “It looks to me like you finished everything up while I was talking to Ammiteo.”  He turned to the younger man.  “What exactly do you need my help with?”

"Understanding why you didn’t tell me the truth about your ‘friend’," answered Sefon with a cheeky little grin.  "Well done, Father."

Idrisar put on his best face of ignorance.  “For what?”

Sefon smiled and stepped closer, speaking in a low voice.  “Don’t play coy.  You were like a teenager out there.  Not that I blame you, though.  He’s a good-looking man and that _body_ is—”

"What are you implying?" demanded Idrisar, flushing despite his best efforts to regulate his anatomy.

Sefon sighed.  “Are you honestly going to try and tell me there’s _nothing_ going on between you and your boss?  The sexual tension in the room was so thick, I could have cut it with a knife.”

Idrisar snorted.  “Don’t exaggerate.”

"I’m serious," argued Sefon.  "Father, I know you try to put off the image that you’re impervious to common biological needs, but the truth is you’ve got them like anyone else.  I used to get the same expression on my face when I was getting ready for a date with Lasaverus, and I was too young to remember, but I’m sure you used to look that way about Sire, too.  It’s okay.  You don’t have to hide it from me."

The Ulvari agent dropped his gaze and traced patterns over the counter island surface with his fingertips.  “Well, it isn’t like that.  Not yet, anyway.  We’ve agreed not to act on anything until after we’ve solved this recent case and figured out how we can weave a professional relationship with a romantic one and make it work.”

"You make it sound so complicated."  Sefon smiled and reached out to put his hands on Idrisar’s shoulders.  "Remember what you told me when I started asking about sires and love?  You said when it was meant to happen, it would.  You can’t schedule it or force it, and if you deny it when it happens, you lose something special."

Idrisar smiled wistfully.  “I said all that, did I?”

His son nodded and patted his shoulders.  “And it was probably some of the best advice I’ve ever been given.  You should try taking it yourself.”

The older lifebearer chuckled.  “It wasn’t really _you_ I was concerned about.  It was your brother.  I’m afraid he may not react well if he finds out I could be heading into another relationship.”  Bowen seemed to be of the mind that Idrisar should never love a man besides Leison.  He had the quaint notion that Idrisar didn’t _need_ romance in his life, now that he’d born his children and lost his first love.

"Bowen can be such a child about certain things," sighed Sefon.  "Living in Nandar hasn’t endowed him with a sense of fairness or reason, that’s for sure.  You just let _me_ deal with him, Father.  If he gives you any trouble about this, I’ll bust him in the lip.”

Idrisar laughed at that and he patted the younger man back.  “I’m sure you would, but I don’t think I’m going to tell him about this.  Right now, there’s still nothing to tell and I’d rather deal with the fallout after it’s been established that Ammiteo and I are indeed going to try dating.”

"You will," assured Sefon with a knowing smirk.  "The way you two were looking at each other is proof.  Not even _you_ can resist your feelings for very long, Dad.”

"My will is stronger than the average lifebearer, " insisted Idrisar in a haughty manner, smirking playfully back.  "You’d be surprised at what I can resist, when I feel it’s necessary."

"And when it’s _not_ necessary?” persisted the younger man, sobering.  “Dad, you’ve been alone for long enough.  If this man could make you happy, I say you should go for it.  From what you’ve told me of Director Ammiteo, he has a good head on his shoulders and I’m sure the two of you will iron out any kinks with your working relationship without too much difficulty.”

Idrisar drew Sefon into his embrace.  “I’ll consider that.  Sefon…I’m really thankful you’re my son.”

Sefon returned the embrace and his voice was slightly husky as he rubbed his cheek against Idrisar’s and nodded.  “I’m really glad you’re my father, too.”

"Hey, I’m feeling left out." 

Both of them pulled away and looked to see Bowen entering the kitchen with a little smirk on his handsome face.  He spread his arms meaningfully.  “I don’t know what the occasion is, but don’t I get a hug too?”

Idrisar smiled at his eldest, stricken by how much he looked like his sire in the face.  The copper tone of his shoulder-length hair came from his grandfather on Leison’s side, and the dark blue eyes were inherited from his grandsire in Idrisar’s side.  The facial structure, however, was all Leison.  If he put light blond hair and blue-gray eyes on him, Bowen would look just like his sire. 

"Just a moment of family appreciation," Idrisar assured.  "Come here, Bowen."

The sire obliged and the three of them hugged it out for a moment.  Idrisar reigned in his emotions and stepped back with a sigh, noting the slight pallor of Bowen’s complexion.  “So, is my toilet still intact?”

Bowen chuckled.  “Don’t worry, I didn’t blow it up.  I opened the window and sprayed some freshener, too.  Sorry about that.”

"You never did travel well."  Idrisar patted him on the arm.  "There are motion sickness pills in the medicine cabinet in there.  Go and take one now and lie down in your bedroom.  Sefon and I can handle the kids.  Dinner should be ready in an hour."

"Okay, Dad."  Bowen started to leave, but he paused at the archway and turned to regard Idrisar again.  "Oh, and your guest?  He’s _huge_!  I think he’s even bigger than the head security guard at my work building back home.”

"Well, please don’t make his size a conversation piece at the dinner table," warned Idrisar.  "It would be rude and I would prefer this family to make a decent impression."

"He’s also Dad’s boss," added Sefon, "so don’t go running off at the mouth tonight."

"I don’t ‘run off at the mouth’," protested Bowen.

Sensing a sibling squabble about to happen, Idrisar intervened before his youngest could counter that.  He ushered Bowen through the archway insistently and gave Sefon a warning glance.  “Go on.  Take your medicine and lie down.  Your spouse should be back soon to look after you.”

Bowen obeyed after making a face at his brother.  Idrisar sighed and shook his head.  Some things never changed—even after they had both grown to adulthood and had children of their own.

* * *

 

Idrisar paused at the entrance to the den, taking a moment to admire the sight of his director.  Ammiteo sat in the high-backed leather chair next to the matching loveseat, with one ankle crossed over his knee while he read the newspaper that had been sitting on the coffee table.  He’d worn a white turtleneck sweater; black pants and black dress boots for the occasion and the ensemble complimented his coloring and looks.  The sweater wasn’t overly snug, but it did hug his powerful torso and arms just right.  Sefon was right; the man had a hell of a body on him.

Without consciously thinking about it, Idrisar hastily checked his reflection in the hallway mirror and he combed a few rebellious locks of hair back into place with his fingers.  He saw the smudge on his glasses and he frowned and took them off to wipe the lenses.  He’d noticed the annoying smudge earlier, but he was so caught up in preparing dinner that he hadn’t done anything about it.  Satisfied that he looked more or less decent—if a bit like a mountain man—he joined his companion in the den.  He cleared his throat gently and he smiled when Ammiteo looked up at him.

"Mind if I join you?"

Ammiteo folded the newspaper back up and got out of his chair, gesturing at the loveseat politely in an old-fashioned way.  “Please.”

Idrisar again had to appreciate his manners.  Ammiteo had chivalry down to an art, without being condescending about it—in that fashion, he seemed older than his years.  The lifebearer sat down on the loveseat and held his glass of cinnamon liqueur up.  “Cheers.  I’m glad you came tonight, Ammiteo.”

The sire sat down again and he reached across to clink his champagne glass against his and smiled quietly back.  “I’m glad you invited me.”  He took a sip of the drink and though he tried to hide it, he grimaced.

"You don’t like that at all, do you?" observed Idrisar with a nod at the glass.

Ammiteo looked faintly embarrassed.  “I’m sorry, it just isn’t for me.  I guess I’m not very classy.”

"Nonsense."  Idrisar chuckled.  "Champagne isn’t for everyone and you shouldn’t force yourself to drink it if you don’t like it.  Sefon and Nithander will drink the rest of the bottle, so don’t worry about it going to waste.  Here, why don’t you try mine?  It’s cinnamon liqueur."

Ammiteo regarded the drink thoughtfully.  “I’ve never tried that before, either.  It sounds interesting.”

"Go ahead," encouraged Idrisar.  "See what you think."

Ammiteo took it and gingerly sipped.  His eyebrows went up and he swallowed.  “That’s actually nice.”

"You like it?  Keep that one and I’ll pour myself another.  Excuse me."

Idrisar got up to do that, when he noticed three little faces peeping from the hallway at Ammiteo.  The director noticed it too, but he pretended not to and grinned into his drink. 

Idrisar sighed at his curious grandchildren.  “Well, don’t just stand there gawking.  Come and talk to Mr. Ammiteo or stop staring.  You were all raised better than this.”

"Boys, get back in here," warned Sefon’s voice from the sunroom a second later.

The two older sires quickly vanished, but little Clinton looked at Ammiteo again, his fear evidently giving way to curiosity.  He looked up at his grandfather questioningly and Idrisar smiled and gave him a nod of encouragement, squatting down before him.

"Go on," urged the lifebearer in a whisper, smoothing a curl away from the two-year-old’s eye.  "He’s like a big teddy bear.  He won’t hurt you."

Clinton’s eyes lit up at the mention of teddy bears and he looked down at the stuffed animal clutched in his pudgy left hand before stumbling over to the big sire.  Ammiteo watched him quietly as he approached, obviously trying his best not to look threatening.  Clinton walked up to him and held his little teddy bear up in offering.

"Fwiend," announced the toddler importantly.  "He can sit wif you."

Ammiteo took the toy with a smile.  “Thank you.”

Clinton grinned toothily, giggled and then ran away with the clumsy bounce of a child still learning to balance on his legs.  Idrisar chuckled as he watched him go around the corner and he looked at Ammiteo with a broad smile. 

"See?  He likes you.  He might be a little shy at times, but Clinton is a good judge of character."

Ammiteo’s chiseled face took on a subtle, bashful expression as he examined the toy in his lap.  “I’m glad he approves.”

* * *

 

Idrisar’s son in laws returned home with the liquor shortly after that and there were introductions all around.  Nithander was a quiet, blue-eyed blond lifebearer with shoulder-length hair.  Born and raised in Nandar, his Avran wasn’t very good and he haltingly apologized to Ammiteo, telling him he was still learning.  Bowen smiled proudly at him, indicating that the young lifebearer had only just recently started to pick up the language.  He seemed very fond of Nithander and vice-versa.  Ammiteo discovered that they were Seth’s parents.

Sefon’s mate Lasaverus had short, well-groomed silver hair and green eyes.  He worked in advertisement in Glass Haven and he had a good sense of humor.  He disclosed to Ammiteo that he had a fondness for human names and thus explained the choice that he and Sefon had made when naming their two sons.

Naturally, Idrisar’s sons and their mates had a few questions for Ammiteo as well—mainly concerning what it was like to oversee the local Ulvari guild and how he managed things.  He explained what he could, mindful of classified information.  There were certain things that Ulvari couldn’t even disclose to their own families, as a security measure to keep the Ulvari secrets from leaking out. 

"So what is this big case you people are working on?" prompted Bowen curiously after rinsing down some food with a swallow of port.

"You know that neither of us can give you those details," chastised Idrisar before Ammiteo could answer.  "Stop digging, son."

The young sire shrugged.  “You’re my Dad.  Can you blame me for wanting to know what kind of risks you’re taking at work?  I still think you should have quit the Ulvari after you had us.  Lifebearers shouldn’t be in such a dangerous occupation, once they’ve had a family.”

Ammiteo’s expression hardened and he clamped down on his umbrage on Idrisar’s behalf, remembering that the younger man was just concerned for his father’s safety.  He tempered his words with patience.  “Actually, your father is the finest agent in our department.”  Ammiteo looked at Idrisar, who seemed a little flustered by the compliment.  “In fact, he’s probably one of the best agents alive today.  He’s an inspiration to everyone he works with—lashran _and_ human.  You should be proud of him.”

"Here, here!"  Sefon agreed, lifting his glass for a toast. 

His spouse nodded in agreement.  “To Idrisar.”

"To Granddad!" Seth’s enthusiastic cry was a bit loud, but endearing.  The fact that he and his cousin were raising their chocolate milk to the toast made it even cuter.

Bowen smirked as he and his mate also raised their glasses.  He too looked at Idrisar and he sighed.  “To you, Father.  I don’t like it, but I guess I can respect it.”

"You have no choice," Sefon pointed out.  "Dad can do what he wants.  This isn’t Nandar, where you can patronize even your own father, if you dislike the choices a lifebearer makes."

"Sefon," warned Idrisar softly as Bowen flushed with anger.

"At least I’m not humanized like you," snapped the sire.

"Gods, you are _such_ a racist.”  Sefon’s attractive face took on a scowling visage.

"Why, because I want to preserve our racial heritage and culture?" demanded Bowen.  "I think _you’re_ the one that’s racist—against your own kind!”

"That’s ridiculous!  Just because I’m willing to adapt to and accept other cultures doesn’t mean I’m throwing my own away!" 

The kids looked at each other uncertainly—except for Clinton, who was occupied with being fed by his sire in his highchair.  Nithander picked at his food quietly, eyeing each brother uncomfortably.  Evidently, these little outbursts between siblings were common during family get-togethers and Nithander preferred to stay out of them.  Next to Sefon, Lasaverus gave Ammiteo an apologetic shrug, got up and retrieved the bottle of whisky from the hutch.  He refilled his glass and the Ulvari directors before taking his seat again and resuming his feeding of his smallest son.

Finally, when it escalated into yelling, Idrisar had enough.  He stood up and all eyes were drawn to him as he glowered at his sons.  He swiftly demonstrated why he was so well-respected by his work colleagues.  

"Both of you, shut _up. Now.”_

He didn’t raise his voice, but his dangerous tone cut through his sons’ argumentative haze and they quieted and stared up at him.  Seth and Donovan gave one another a cheeky grin over the table, evidently delighted to see their parents get into trouble.   

Idrisar held both his sons’ gazes in turn as he spoke.  “I’m going to say a couple of things and after that, there will be no further talk of politics at this table.  I realize you two get an odd thrill out of debating one another every time we have a gathering, but it makes the rest of us uncomfortable.”

"Not me," defied Lasaverus.  "I get a kick out of watching Sef wipe the figurative floor with his brother.  No offense, Bow."

"Well it makes Nithander and I uncomfortable," said Idrisar sternly, before his oldest son could give a rebuttal.  "And I suspect it’s made our guest uncomfortable as well.  Director Ammiteo probably thinks this family is insane, thanks to this bickering."

Ammiteo could have told him he thought it made his family perfectly normal, but he could tell Idrisar’s patience was stretched to the limit and he wisely kept his mouth shut.

"As for being ‘humanized’," Idrisar went on, addressing Bowen, "I chose to transfer here to Avras with you and your brother after your sire died because I wanted you both to have opportunities that Leison and I weren’t afforded when we were your age.  The council paired us up together and it took a long time for your sire and I to get over our resentment for that and realize we were actually _happy_ together.  That was when we had the two of you.  Just because the arranged Vashekna worked out for us was no guarantee that the same would happen to either of you, and I wanted you both to have your choice of mates…or even the choice to remain single and childless, if you preferred.  You should thank ‘humanization’ for your chance to meet and bond with your gentle spouse.”

Bowen looked at his sweet-faced spouse and he had the grace to look a bit ashamed.  Idrisar didn’t stop there.  He turned his wrath on Sefon.  “And you; stop trying to push your sibling’s buttons.  Don’t think it’s escaped my notice.  You do this every single time and you know by now what his responses are going to be.  I don’t like this kind of fracas at the dining table, yet you start it time and again.  No more, Sefon.  You can argue sexism and politics with your brother _away_ from the tender ears of your children, when you’re in my home.  Is that understood?”

Sefon lowered his gaze and nodded.  “Yes sir.  Sorry.”

"Good."  Idrisar took his seat again and he sipped his glass of water.  "Now, let’s try to have a pleasant meal and talk about happier things."

"But can you at _least_ give us an idea of what this case of yours involves?” persisted Bowen—stupidly. 

Idrisar’s glare at his oldest son prompted Ammiteo to jump in and salvage the situation as best he could.  “As your father said; we can’t give you the exact details, but I can tell you there’s a criminal at large.”  He remembered Idrisar’s comment about the “tender ears of children” and he censored his words, hoping not to frighten the little ones.  “He’s hurt a lot of people…permanently.”

Bowen frowned in understanding and so did the other adults at the table.  “A serial offender?”

"In a manner of speaking," agreed Ammiteo.  "Your father is head of the investigative team charged with the responsibility of finding this fugitive and bringing him in.  I’m afraid that’s all the information I can give you."

The table went quiet, until Donovan spoke up.  “I’d shoot him with my bow.”

Idrisar smiled at the young sire as the others chuckled.  “I’ve no doubt you would, Donnie.  But there’s no need to.  The guild will handle this and catch this man eventually, one way or the other.”

Bowen didn’t seem to take comfort in his father’s confidence.  He looked at Ammiteo and he couldn’t hide the worry in his dark blue eyes.  “You’ll watch his back, won’t you Director?”

Ammiteo’s first instinct was to tell the younger sire that Idrisar was perfectly capable of watching his _own_ back—plus the backs of others.  However, the sincere dread in his eyes gave him pause.  He remembered Idrisar confessing that he’d almost quit the guild because his sons had already lost one parent.  Beneath all of Bowen’s apparent sexism was love, and fear for his father’s life.

"I’ll always be close at hand, if your father needs me," promised Ammiteo.  He looked at Idrisar sincerely.  "For as long as he’ll let me."

Idrisar’s expression softened.  He seemed to get the message and his grateful little smile proved it. 

* * *

 

It was getting late by the time Ammiteo decided he should take his leave.  The kids were put into bed under protest and the adults were sure to follow soon.  Idrisar walked him to the door, arguing with himself as he returned his coat to him.  He was a little buzzed from the alcohol he’d drank and he was sure that despite Ammiteo’s size, he probably wasn’t in a condition to drive home safely.

"Maybe you should sleep here for the night," he suggested as he stepped outside onto the front porch with the director and shut the door behind them.  "I’d hate to think of the head of our department getting pulled over for driving under the influence.  You could take my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch."

"No need to worry about that," Ammiteo assured him.  "I took a cab here.  I’ve already called for one to come and pick me up and even if that weren’t the case, I’d never take your bed and leave you to sleep on the couch."

Idrisar chuckled softly.  “Not even when it’s offered?”

The sire shook his spiked head.  “Call it old fashioned or sexist if you want, but I won’t sleep in a bed when there’s a woman or a lifebearer sleeping on the couch or the floor.”

"Coming from you, it’s not sexist at all," assured Idrisar.  He sighed and looked up at the clear night sky.  "I hope my family didn’t make you too uncomfortable with the bickering."

"That’s actually pretty normal, from my experience."  Ammiteo smiled at him.  "Trust me, your family was no worse than anyone else’s.  It was a pleasure to be invited into your home to meet them all, and dinner was delicious."

"The pleasure was all mine," Idrisar assured him.  He looked up at him and he resisted the urge to nibble his lower lip like an uncertain teen.  "You’re very good with kids."

"You think so?"  Ammiteo smirked and shrugged.  "I think because I know I can come off so intimidating, I work a little harder to be gentle with them."

"And you’re aware of the strength of these hands."  Idrisar took said hands in his and he rubbed the calloused palms with his thumbs, thinking of how easily Ammiteo could crush things with them. 

"I know you could kill with them, but you’re so…gentle…" He trailed off, feeling excessively foolish.  He kept thinking of the kiss they’d shared in the office and the way Ammiteo touched him.  He hadn’t hid his power, but he’d tempered it in a way that was wholly sensual to Idrisar.

"I’m not used to seeing you like this," Ammiteo whispered.

Startled, the lifebearer stopped circling his thumbs over Ammiteo’s palms and looked up at him.  “Like what?”

"Open."  The director smiled handsomely at him.  "So, this is what ‘off the clock’ Idrisar is like.  You’re still _you_ , but some of the barriers have dropped.  I feel like I can be more open with you, in turn.”

Idrisar smiled a little.  “And what would you like to say, now that you can be more open with me?”

Ammiteo appeared to consider the question seriously, his violet gaze shifting between Idrisar and the door.  After a few heartbeats, he leaned over to murmur his answer in the smaller man’s ear. 

"I’d love to kiss you, right here in the open."  He pulled back and gazed into Idrisar’s eyes.  "I won’t, however.  I know you alluded that you wouldn’t mind it if more kisses occur, but I’m sure that didn’t include situations where your kids might see it or someone from the department could happen by and witness it."

Were he younger and more impulsive, Idrisar might have argued that point.  His desire for Ammiteo was almost crippling now and he felt the warning stir in his pants as his groin began to react to it.  He pinched his lips and struggled inwardly before answering.  He’d confessed something very similar to Ammiteo at breakfast one morning, while they were still in Zarn.  Now he had an inkling of how seductive it was. 

"I’d love to _let_ you kiss me, but I’m grateful you’re showing propriety.”

Ammiteo’s responsive smile was almost a grimace of discomfort, and a glance downwards assured Idrisar that he was in the same fix.  “For now, I’ll settle for this,” the director said; and he turned Idrisar’s right palm over and lowered his mouth to it for a kiss. 

When he straightened back up and released the lifebearer’s hands, Ammiteo gave him an uncharacteristic little wink.  “If Saber can do it, I don’t see why I can’t too.”

Idrisar chuckled.  “I’m happy to accept it.”

Ammiteo’s cab pulled up to the curb on the street and Idrisar sighed.  Perhaps it was best that the man not sleep in his house tonight, after all.  Having him too easily accessible was probably a bad idea, while Idrisar was in his current state of frustration.  The thought of getting his hands on that body made him hunch over a little to hide the growing bulge in his pants.  He nodded at the cab behind the sire, suddenly anxious for him to leave—before he noticed his problem.

"It looks like your ride is here.  Maybe tomorrow, I’ll bring some leftovers into work for you."

"I’d like that," agreed Ammiteo.  He was also hunching a bit.  "Thank you again for dinner, Idrisar.  This has definitely been the best evening I’ve had in some time."

"Likewise," conceded Idrisar. 

He tried not to pay much attention to the subtle way the sire was limping as he turned and walked to the cab.  He watched until Ammiteo was inside and he waved as the vehicle took off.  He sighed when he was gone and he looked down at his troublesome crotch.

"You and I are going to have words."

* * *

 

-To be continued   


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

The next day just after lunch, the sorcerer from the Rhuidhim magic guild arrived at headquarters and Director Ammiteo showed him around.  He was a lifebearer with lustrous, flowing silver hair that fell to his hips in rich waves.  The glorious mane was layered around his face to feather back, and the handful of tiny braids woven into parts of his hair boasted glass beads and colorful feathers of blue and violet.  His eyes reminded Ammiteo of Agent Wolfe’s eyes; they were a piercing, pale gray that almost appeared silver in certain lighting.   

The sorcerer was going by the name “Shard”, presumed to be an alias.  He was dressed in shimmering material of black and silver.  The loose, long-sleeved shirt was black and it behaved like it was woven of obsidian glitter.  The pants were form-fitting dark silver and the boots that hugged his legs up to the thigh were black with silver laces and hard soles. 

It was very difficult not to stare at him, though he wasn’t Ammiteo’s type.  Like Azurel, the sorcerer had an ethereal look that drew the eyes like a peacock, and his facial features were nearly as stunning as Evindar’s.  Vandrin passed by them in the hallway as he was taking Shard to see the exercise facilities and the troublesome agent was so distracted by the sight of the newcomer that he tripped over his own feet and sprawled on the floor, making a proper ass of himself.  Ammiteo had no sympathy for him.  Perhaps that would teach Vandrin to try and control his impulses better around lifebearers. 

The tour ended at Director Kent’s office and a meeting was arranged to allow Shard the chance to get better acquainted with the people in charge of the case, as well as Zevian and Agents Glaive and Wolfe.  Idrisar was the first to arrive, early as always.  Introductions got underway and they began to plan Shard’s part in the investigation. 

* * *

 

"Shard, I’d like you to meet Agent Blackbird."  Ammiteo nodded at the lifebearer, keeping his mannerisms professional despite the charming evening he’d enjoyed at Idrisar’s home, the night before.  "He’s our top Ulvari agent, and he’s been assigned a position of authority on this case.  Agent Blackbird, this is our Rhuidhim liaison, Shard."

"Welcome to our facility," greeted Idrisar courteously, bowing a little in a show of traditional respect.  "I hope your flight was pleasant?"

"Flight?"  The sorcerer frowned.  He blinked.  "Oh!  You think I traveled here by plane, don’t you?  No, I took a much more direct route and teleported to the magic university.  The cab ride from there to here was pleasant enough, though."

"Teleportation?"  Idrisar was impressed.  "Only a handful of sorcerers in the world can teleport safely over such a distance."

"Hmph…’ _safely’_.  I’m actually lucky I didn’t end up in a wall.  This city has changed a lot since I was here last and they’ve added on to the university.”  He rubbed his ring-bedecked hands together and regarded Idrisar thoughtfully.  “You have a Nandarian accent.”

"Yes," agreed Idrisar.  "I’ve noticed you have a hint of one as well."

"It does cling stubbornly to the tongue," sighed the sorcerer in agreement. 

He looked at the door when it opened to admit Haden, Glaive and Zevian.  His pale gaze latched onto Haden and his silvery brows furrowed over his eyes.  He crossed the room swiftly with an elfin grace, before Haden could get more than four paces in.

"Uh, meet Agents Glaive and Wolfe," announced Kent with a puzzled frown.  "The man behind them is Zevian Saber, guild lord of—"

"Oricus island," finished Shard with a polite nod at Zevian.  "Yes, I know.  They informed me of his collaboration."

Shard approached Haden, staring up at him with a bit of awe on his lovely features.  “Let me have a look at you, Agent.”

Haden looked distinctly uncomfortable and unsure of how to react as Shard cupped his face and stared deeply into his eyes.  “Uh…nice to…meet you.”

"I’ll be damned," muttered Shard.  "You know, if he’d been born human, I think he might have looked something like you.  Maybe not as rugged and the eyes are the wrong color, but similar."

Poor Haden was so obviously confused, he might as well have had a giant question mark hanging over his head.  “Er…he who?  You don’t mean Sandman, do you?”

Shard seemed a little startled by the question.  “No, of _course_ not.  I haven’t even seen an image of the suspect, yet.  I was talking about…oh, it isn’t important.  Let’s just say you remind me of someone from history and leave it at that.”

"Um…sure."  Haden shrugged. 

"You must be the spirit singer," guessed Shard with a measuring look at Glaive.  "I wondered if they were joking when they said you were a lishere, but I see they weren’t.  Good for you."

Glaive arched one elegant brow.  “If you say so.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Shard smiled at him and then he looked Zevian up and down—who was watching him in a way that made Idrisar want to smack him on the back of the head.  He couldn’t exactly blame Zevian—or any other sire—for appreciating Shard’s crystalline beauty, but couldn’t the man at least _attempt_ not to leer at every lifebearer he saw? 

"And Mr. Saber…you seem to have some latent spirit singing talents of your own," observed Shard at last.  "Though your aura isn’t pulsing with it, like our handsome lishere’s does."

Zevian smiled crookedly in that charming way of his that always made the pulse quicken.  “Guilty, as charged.  I’m only a dabbler, though.”

"Hmm…or you’ve never bothered reaching further," said Shard thoughtfully.  "You might be surprised what you could do, if you opened yourself up to it."

Zevian’s reaction to the observation wasn’t quite what Idrisar would have expected.  He didn’t brush it off or flirtatiously accuse the sorcerer of trying to flatter him.  Instead, his smile faltered and Idrisar could have sworn he saw a flash of fear in his eyes. 

"Well, shall we get on with it?" suggested Shard as he turned back around to face Idrisar and the two directors.  "I’d like to see what this ‘Sandman’ looks like and discuss my part in this."

Kent took the hint and he opened up the folder he’d brought to the meeting with him and took out the blown up, digitally altered photo of Tsyther, laying it on the round table.  “Mr. Saber provided us with a couple of photos of the suspect and we had our people manipulate this one to give an idea of what Tsyther looks like today.”

Shard frowned down at the photograph.  “Now _there’s_ a face that only a mother could love.  He must have fallen from the top of the ugly tree and struck every branch on the way down.  To think, I was prepared to offer my seductive skills to help bring him in, but I fear I might vomit in my mouth if those lips ever come close to mine.”

Haden snorted and Glaive chuckled softly.  “Not to defend him, but Tsyther was actually a good-looking man, before the explosion.”  He gestured at Zevian as if displaying a piece of evidence to a jury.  “This gorgeous hunk of sire he produced is proof of that.”

"You fried the pretty right off of his face," answered Zevian with a smirk at Glaive.  "I’d say his looks match his personality, now."

"Ahh, the explosion."  Shard smirked at the lishere.  "I hope you aren’t quite the ticking time bomb you were back then, Agent Glaive.  Some would argue that I have no right to lecture on safety, but we can’t have civilians getting crispy baked in another uncontrolled blast, can we?"

Glaive grimaced slightly and shook his head, but his coral eyes kept their secrets as he answered.  “No, that would be unfortunate.”

"Try ‘unacceptable’," corrected Shard.  He looked at Haden again, his demeanor softening a bit.  "And he’s determined to do harm to this one, is he?"

"That’s his plan," answered Idrisar.  "And that’s why Agent Wolfe hasn’t left this building since the incident at his apartment.  We have his place under surveillance, but chances are that Sandman is already aware of that fact.  He may even be aware that his target is under protection here at headquarters."

Shard’s quartz-like gaze narrowed on him in a considering manner before softening.  Idrisar had no idea what the man sensed in him, but when he spoke, again, he did so in a quietly respectful tone.  “What are your suspicions, Agent Blackbird?”

Idrisar felt acutely uncomfortable as all eyes fell on him.  He looked up at Ammiteo, who stood on the other side of the table.  “I didn’t want to consider it, sir, but it’s possible that we have a mole somewhere in this department.  There is a _lot_ of room for improvement, but this man’s ability to consistently stay one step ahead of us is uncanny…even for a spirit singer.  I can’t help but feel like he has an informant tipping him off.”

"Do you have any evidence?" Kent asked grimly.  "I have all the respect in the world for you, Agent Blackbird, but we can’t jump to conclusions based on a hunch.  Sandman has us all a little rattled and the man’s creepy as all get out."

"True, I haven’t found any proof yet," sighed Idrisar.  He looked at Ammiteo in a faintly imploring way. "But something in my gut is warning me that we’ve missed something.  Sir, I know we can’t act on every bad feeling I get, but I can’t escape this nagging feeling…like someone is coming up behind me and they vanish when I turn around."

"Are you sure there isn’t something personal in that?" pressed Kent without apology.  "You don’t get bested often, Agent Blackbird.  Sandman did you serious injury when you defended Dr. Adder."

"I’m not jumping at shadows, sir," insisted Idrisar. "This isn’t about me, it’s about this case.  I feel like someone’s going behind our backs.  I hope I’m wrong, but I can’t shake the feeling."

Zevian spoke up in Idrisar’s defense, then.  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Blackbird, it’s that his gut feelings are usually pretty spot-on.”  He looked at both directors in turn.  “That’s part of the reason why you people assigned him to lead this case, isn’t it?  So trust him.  I wouldn’t put it past my old man to have gotten to someone in your department.”

"He knows how to twist words and manipulate people better than a snake oil salesman," reminded Glaive, siding with Zevian.  "Both Saber and I have first-hand experience with that.  He learns what people want the most…what they _need_ …and he finds ways to promise it to them and make them believe he can deliver.  If Agent Blackbird thinks he’s got an informant somewhere in this organization, chance are he’s right.”

Ammiteo nodded, his purple gaze settling on Idrisar.  “I trust Agent Blackbird’s judgment.  The question is, how should we proceed with an internal investigation without alerting the wrong people, while still maintaining the Sandman investigation at the same time?”

"That’s why I’m here to help," reminded Shard.  "Though I’m truly _not_ looking forward to the prospect of being this suspects sex bait.”  He looked down at the photo again and he frowned.  “One thing I don’t understand is why he hasn’t done anything about his disfigurement.  According to the case files I read, he’s taken some high-priced hit jobs and that should have provided him with plenty of credits to have some kind of corrective surgery done, by now.  Nobody voluntarily leaves burn scars that severe in place, if they can afford to have the skin graft procedures done.  So, why hasn’t he _done_ that, yet?”

"Well, apparently he’s been looking for Glaive for years now," reasoned Haden.  "Maybe he hasn’t had it done yet because he didn’t want him to recognize him right away, if he ever found him.  I mean the last time Glaive saw him before the alley incident was just before he dropped the spirit bomb.  I’ve got to say, if I look at that altered picture and put it next to one of the un-altered ones, I have trouble believing it’s the same guy."

"That’s a very good point," agreed Glaive.  "I can’t imagine Tsyther asking a doctor to give him any face other than his own.  Arrogance is just one of the man’s personality flaws and he _did_ like his face, before I blew it off.  It’s no wonder he’s so pissed off at me.”

Zevian clicked his tongue.  “Defying him _and_ messing up his face.  That’s going to be a tough record for me to beat.”

"Well, you’re his son," comforted Glaive.  "I’m sure your defiance stings on a more personal level."

"We can debate over who’s betrayal angered Sandman the most later," insisted Ammiteo.  "Right now, we need to prioritize the betrayal that could be happening to _us_.  Director Kent, what are your thoughts on this?”

The human director sighed and looked around the room at the others.  “I never like to think of one of my own going rogue, but I won’t let my pride get in the way of security.  Betrayal happens, unfortunately, and you’ve all made some compelling arguments.  I guess we’d better clamp down and go over the list of everyone with inside information on this case.  We’ll list possible motives and make our first picks from there.”

* * *

 

After the meeting, everyone parted ways to either finish up what they were doing before or get started on outlining possible informant suspects within the allied guilds.  Of course, they would need to list all of the Bargel participants as well and decide who they could trust in that guild to investigate for traitors.  Haden and Glaive suggested Agent Rose and the directors agreed to speak with her about the matter.

As they stepped out into the hallway, Glaive and Haden paused to watch their strange, exotic new ally head in the opposite direction with Idrisar.  The sorcerer seemed to sense their eyes on him and he turned a bit to look back at Haden, again with that semi-haunted look on his pretty face.  Haden shivered.

"Seems like he likes you," observed Zevian as he stepped up beside the two agents and noticed the silver stare of the lifebearer.  "I’d almost say he’s fascinated with you."

"He scares me a little," confessed Haden.

Zevian looked at him like he was joking.  “You can’t be serious.  That beautiful thing _scares_ you?”  He studied the lifebearer in question with admiration as Shard finally stopped staring at Haden and faced forward again. 

"Haden is wise to be unsettled," Glaive said softly, narrowing his eyes on the retreating sorcerer.  "Don’t be coy, Mr. Saber.  I know you sense it too."

"Sense what?" demanded Haden, looking between the two of them with slightly anxious gray eyes.  "You two are starting to creep me out too, now."

"Nothing," answered Zevian with a shrug.  When Glaive raised a brow at him, he sighed.  "All right, so he has a lot of power.  He’s a sorcerer.  It comes with the territory."

"He got to you too," insisted Glaive.  "When he hinted that you might have a greater affinity for the voices than you think."

Zevian grimaced.  “That would have made _anyone_ in my position shudder a little.  My old man went crazy because of those voices, Agent.  We’re here right now _because_ of that.  Yes, it bothers me to think of waking up one day with voices in my head and possibly going down the same path as my sire.  Satisfied?”

Haden looked between the two of them before settling on Glaive.  “And what he said to you about being a ticking time bomb really bothered you.”

"Of course it did," confessed the lishere, "but I wasn’t referring to his observations.  Rather, I was referring to the underlying _reason_ he has such intuition.  He’s old, Haden.”

The knight frowned and looked at the sorcerer in the distance before he disappeared around the corner with the others.  “What, you mean like Sandman’s age?”

"Older than that," answered Glaive.  His eyes were on the spot where Shard had just been as well. 

"How old are we talking, then?"

"Ancient," answered Glaive, shutting his eyes as he listened to the ancestral whispers in his mind.  "Old enough to be in the Council of Elders, surely."

Haden’s dark brows shot up and Zevian scratched his chin thoughtfully.  “You think he’s on the Council?”

"It’s too soon to tell," Answered Glaive, "but one thing I _can_ tell you is that I pity anyone foolish enough to fuck with that man. Between him and Agent Blackbird, I believe we were in the room with two of the most dangerous lifebearers on Wyndrah.”

* * *

 

Zevian locked the door behind him as he entered the suite he was sharing with Azurel.  He looked at the time and decided to give the lifebearer a call.  He had promised to take him out to dinner tonight.  He stared at the number pad for a moment, brushing his thumb over it absently as Shard’s words came unbidden into his mind again.

_"You might be surprised what you could do, if you opened yourself up to it."_

The guild lord frowned.  That was the problem.  He’d recently “opened himself up” in order to communicate with Idrisar without L’daris and his men knowing.  He hadn’t said anything to anyone yet, but ever since then, he’d been hearing whispers at the edge of his consciousness…like white noise or a radio playing in another room.  It was more annoying than anything, but he was beginning to think it wasn’t caused by fluid build up in his inner ear due to flight travel.

He started to select Azurel’s contact number, but he heard a voice murmur directly into his ear and he froze.

"You killed me."

Zevian recognized that voice.  It was the same voice that had ordered him killed years ago—an order that robbed his beloved spouse of his life.  Zevian looked sidelong at the source of the voice, and were a less disciplined man, he might have lost his composure.  Obane Undir was standing there in the room with him, watching him with black, glittering eyes.  He was semi-transparent and his skin was dead white.  Ghostly tendrils of smoke curled up from his skin.

"You killed my Urahis," Zevian said as calmly as he could.  "And you aren’t really here.  Fuck off."

He walked to the kitchenette area and retrieved the bottle of scotch he’d bought yesterday from the cabinet.  His hand shook a little as he procured a glass and poured some of the amber liquid into it.  He could see the phantom coming toward him out the corner of his eye and he refused to look at it as it stopped less than a foot away, staring at him.  Zevian lifted his drink to his lips and downed it in one swallow.  He grimaced and shut his eyes.

"Glaring at me won’t change anything, spook.  I’m going to count to ten and when I open my eyes, you’d better be gone."

He began to count slowly, imagining the apparition breaking apart and blowing away like smoke in the wind.  If he really _was_ starting to channel spirits like his old man, he’d be damned if he was going to let them run his life.  Zevian slowed his breathing and finished counting.  He moistened his lips with his tongue as he cautiously opened his eyes and looked around. 

Obane was gone.

Zevian’s relief was minor.  If he was staring to see ghosts, it meant he could start losing it…just like his sire did.  In his effort to protect Idrisar from L’daris’ pet spirit singer that day, he’d opened a door that he might not be able to shut again.  He poured himself another drink and he selected Azurel’s contact number as he walked over to the window to look out at the city.  He sipped the scotch as he waited for his young lover to pick up and he quickly came up with an excuse as Azurel’s voice spoke on the other end.

"Zev?"

"Yeah, it’s me.  How’s the museum, gorgeous?"

"A little disappointing, actually."  Azurel sighed.  "How are things going there?"

"Slow," fibbed the sire.  "Listen, I don’t think I’ll be able to take you out tonight.  Some things came up today and I’m going to be too worn out, by the time you get back.  I can send Therril out with you if you really want to go to that restaurant you were looking at."

Azurel sounded a little disappointed, but not angry.  “No, that’s okay.  I’d rather go with you and I can wait until the timing is better for you.  Zevian, you sound a little…off.  Is something the matter?”

"No," he answered.  "I’m just tired, love."

"You don’t sound tired," insisted the lifebearer.  "You sound tense."

Zevian managed a chuckle.  “Damn, you’re relentless.  So I’m a little stressed…we’ve got a lot of work to do.  Don’t worry about me and enjoy your afternoon.  I’ll see you when you get back and I promise, we’ll go to that restaurant sometime soon.”

"There’s no rush," assured Azurel.  "Zev, promise me you’ll take some breaks while you’re doing this.  I know you don’t want me to worry but I can’t help it.  You’re really bull-headed about taking care of yourself."

The guild lord sighed.  “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re my lover or my nursemaid.  I promise you, I’m taking breaks.”  He examined his drink absently.  “As a matter of fact, I’m having a break right now.”

"Good. Maybe when I get back, I can give you a special reward." 

Zevian couldn’t even muster proper enthusiasm for that—and making love was one of his favorite things to do in life.  “That sounds great, baby.  I look forward to it.”

Azurel still sounded worried.  “I’ll see you later.”

* * *

 

After hanging up with Azurel, Zevian noticed that he had a missed text message.  He checked it and he smiled a little wistfully when he saw that it was from his son.

_"Hey pops, wussup?  Got your mail and thought 2 check if ur in Avras yet."_

Zevian thought about calling him back, but he checked the time and decided against it.  Orindel’s sleeping habits were pretty erratic growing up, but the hour was late in Rhuidhim and it was best not to risk waking him.  He texted back, instead.

_"I Made it to VF and have been here all weekend.  I meant to call, but got hung up on business.  I will try to call you this week."_

He considered the message thoughtfully before sending it.  Orindel didn’t usually ask about his personal business, but he knew Zevian was previously banned from Avras and he might possibly come up with a few questions about what he was doing there now.  Accustomed to having to fabricate little stories here and there to protect those who weren’t involved in the dangerous aspects of his business, Zevian started working out an excuse in his head.  He sure as _hell_ couldn’t tell his son that he’d come to Avras to track down and kill his grandsire—who was already supposed to be dead to begin with.

Zevian sighed and put away the phone.  “I wish I could just be honest with you, kid.  Sometimes, it’s just better to lie.”

"That’s where you and I could never agree, Zevian."

The guild lord stiffened all over at the sound of the voice, coming from the dining table behind him.  He didn’t dare turn, but he could see a faint reflection in the window.  He tried to calm his pounding heart as he forced out a response.

"I always tried to be straight with you…Urahis.  I knew how much it hurt you when I wasn’t and somehow, you always knew."

"Perhaps because you were more open and honest with me than you ever were with anyone else in your life," answered the beloved, gentle voice.  Urahis always thought his words through before speaking them, and he was never harsh with his mate—even when Zevian deserved it.  "You made it easy for me to tell when you weren’t being sincere.  Zevian, you’re going to have to be honest with someone in your life now.  I know what you intend to do and I won’t allow it.  Getting yourself killed won’t bring me back, beloved."

He swallowed and shut his eyes.  “Who said anything about getting killed?  I’m after justice, not suicide.”

"You’re after vengeance."  The voice sounded closer now. 

Zevian opened his eyes slowly, afraid for a completely different reason than before with Obane.  He could see the reflection of his dead mate more clearly now, as the phantom had come up behind him and now stood watching him through the glass.  Unlike Obane, Urahis didn’t appear bleached and Zevian could have sworn he was real and alive in the room with him.

"Maybe vengeance is all I have left," whispered Zevian through a tight throat. 

Urahis shook his head and Zevian could see his long, platinum blond hair swaying with the motions.  He could see the soft lavender color of his eyes as they gazed back at him through the reflection.  “Zevian, please turn around.”

"I can’t," he gasped, his whole body tensing with pain.  "You aren’t really here.  I can’t…look at you."

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he nearly dropped his drink.  There was a cool sensation where the hand rested, and he felt a soft brush of cool air against his neck as Urahis stood on his tiptoes and murmured into his ear.

"I’m here, Zevian.  I’m just as real as you are, though in another state of existence.  Please, turn around.  I want to look at you.  I can’t stay for long."

Unable to refuse Urahis anything, Zevian slowly turned his head to look at him.  Like their son, Urahis wasn’t a tall lashran in life and the same held true in the afterlife, as well.  At 5’6, he was only a little taller than the average human woman.  That lithe, sweet frame that Zevian had come to know so well in life was unchanged.  Urahis was built like Orindel and Azurel; slim and graceful without being bony.  His straight, pale hair was all one length, falling down his back and over his chest in a lustrous curtain.  He wore the burgundy Vashekna robe he’d worn on their bonding day.  It was embroidered with ancient Zarnian symbols, stitched with silver thread.

Zevian impulsively reached out for him.  Urahis looked solid and alive, unlike his earlier visitor.  The sire’s fingertips met the cool skin and he took a shuddering breath.  “I can…touch you.  How is that possible?  I must be losing my goddamned mind, just like I feared.”

Urahis laid a gentle hand over the top of the one caressing his face, his touch barely a whisper against Zevian’s skin.  “You aren’t going insane.  I’m here, love.  You can feel me because you _want_ to feel me, and I can feel you, too.”

All the strength went out of Zevian’s legs and he sank to his knees before his mate.  Hardly aware of what he was doing, he set his glass on the floor and he embraced him around the waist and laid his cheek against his stomach.  He only trusted himself to speak one word.

"How?"

"Your gift," answered the spirit.  "It’s begun to blossom.  The dormant seed is awake now and the seedling pushes its way out of the soil, seeking the light."

Zevian sniffed, trying not to break down.  “I’m a man, beautiful…not a garden.”

Urahis laughed softly and his cool fingertips stroked Zevian’s hair with fond familiarity.  “I do miss gardening, sometimes.  I miss you more, though.”

Zevian nodded in agreement.  So, his suspicion was right…that burst of fear for Idrisar and his desperation to protect him triggered this mess.  Seeing, touching and speaking with his mate again was like heaven and hell rolled into one. 

"I planted some of your favorite bushes around the new place," he said when he thought he could speak without choking up.

"Yes, the roses," answered Urahis.  "I watched you clip one for your Azurel.  I thought that was sweet."

Zevian’s eyes popped open.  “You…saw that?”

"It’s okay.  I want you to live, Zevian.  That’s why I’m here now."  Urahis cupped the guild lord’s face and coaxed him to tilt his head back and look up at him.  He smiled down at him and sighed.  "Those eyes…I always thought they were the most beautiful color.  I miss gazing into them."

Presently, said eyes were threatening to well up with tears and it was with excruciating difficulty that Zevian held them back.  “Not nearly as much as I miss gazing into yours.”

Urahis sank down before him, so that their gazes were level.  His robe pooled around him on the floor, seeming maddeningly solid—like he was.  “I wish I could stay here and just look at you and hold you, but I need to give you this message.  You’re going to need help, Zevian.  I’m going to protect you for as long as I can, but eventually, the others will start getting through…just like Obane did earlier.”

"I’ll seek help from the Spirit Keepers," promised Zevian, "as soon as I’ve finished what I came here to do."

Urahis frowned and lowered his gaze.  “I knew you’d say that.  Zevian, your sire’s death won’t change history and you’ll get yourself killed trying to make it happen.  Please, let your companions deal with Tsyther.  Your revenge will be in finding happiness again, despite what he’s done to you.”

"If I die bringing him down, it only means I’ll be reunited with you sooner," insisted Zevian.  He stroked the soft, platinum hair and he noticed it didn’t feel as solid as before.  For a moment, he could see through Urahis and he knew with bitter certainty that his beloved was starting to fade. 

"I don’t want you to come to me that way," insisted Urahis urgently.  "I have an eternity to wait for you and there are people here who would suffer for your absence."

"You were always so bloody selfless," Zevian said—almost resentfully.  He took the spirit’s hands in his and raised the right one to turn it over for a kiss on the palm.  "You were too good for me, gorgeous."

"I know," teased Urahis.  His smile faded with Zevian looked at him and a single tear traced its way down the sire’s bronze cheek.  He sighed and reached out to brush the tear aside, his own ghostly eyes sparkling with tears.  "You have my blessing, beloved.  Try to be happy with your new lover, and don’t get yourself killed.  You have to let me go now."

Zevian shut his eyes.  “At the risk of sounding like a petulant brat, I don’t wanna.”

  Urahis chuckled unsteadily and sniffed.  “Well, you have to.  It’s time we say goodbye for now, handsome.  I…can’t speak with you often, unless it’s important.  With any luck, you won’t hear from me _or_ any other spirits for a little while, at least.”

"So you’re protecting me, eh?"  Zevian swallowed hard, feeling like his larynx was clamping shut on him. 

"As much as I’m able to," agreed the lifebearer.  "Remember what I said, Zevian.  Seek help to manage your gifts at the earliest convenience.  I’ll always be here for you, in some way or another.  I love you."

"I love you too, baby." 

Zevian kept his eyes shut as he felt the ghostly lips press against his in a kiss.  He tried to comb his fingers through the spirit’s silken hair, but it dissipated under his hand and the feel of Urahis’ lips followed.  Zevian opened his eyes in time to see the last wispy trace of his spouse’s image fade away and vanish.  He remained there on his knees for a couple of minutes, reaching out to where Urahis had just been.  Finally, he covered his face with his hands and took a shuddering breath, fighting back his angst.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Haden Wolfe was suffering some angst of his own—due to extreme boredom and a touch of stir-craziness.  Over the weekend, he’d started working out with a vengeance.  In lieu of anything else productive to do, he was back in the gym just minutes after going over some casework with Malcolm and Lily and coming up with absolutely nothing.     

"Fifty-five," grunted Haden, "Fifty-six.  Fifty…seven.  Fifty… _eight_!”

A hand encased in a fingerless leather glove clamped down on the bar between the weights he was lifting as Haden faltered.  He breathed a sigh of relief as he looked up to see his partner smirking down at him and he didn’t bitch about Glaive spotting him.  He let go of the dumbbells once they were secured again and he let his arms drop, panting with exertion.

"Why is it every time I turn around, you’re attacking those things?"  Glaive squatted down beside him and checked the pounds.  "And for Wyndrah’s sake, why in the everloving _fuck_ are you trying to bench press Director Ammiteo’s weight setting?  You haven’t the build for it, my friend.”

Haden tried to shrug, but his arms and shoulders were like so much jelly now and the gesture ended up looking more like a flop than a shrug.  “I just…wanted a challenge…you know?  Sandman had me…in a vice hold.  I don’t go down that easy…figured I should do some strength training…while I’m stuck here.”

"What you were doing wasn’t ‘strength training’," insisted Glaive with a sigh.  "It was an invitation to a hernia or an aneurism." 

He glanced around and upon seeing that there was nobody in the immediate vicinity, he brushed aside a dark lock of sweat-dampened hair from Haden’s forehead.  “I’ll also remind you that you’ve just recovered from having your shoulder dislocated.  Are you so desperate to get out that even a trip to the hospital sounds like a party to you, mate?”

Haden felt kind of stupid.  “Well no, but I really didn’t think it was that big of a deal.  I almost made it to sixty before I started buckling.”

"And if someone attacked you right now, you wouldn’t be able to do so much as slap at them in self-defense," chastised Glaive dryly.  "A little girl could hit harder than you at this moment, Haden.  Not to mention, tomorrow you’re going to be feeling that with a vengeance.  You’re going to be so stiff and sore, you’ll be moving like a mummy."

"Maybe Sandman’s scared of mummies," suggested Haden sheepishly.  "They could give you a case of the rot if they touch you, right?  Just wrap me up in some bandages."

Glaive covered his mouth on a snicker and shook his head.  “You watch too many horror movies.  Maybe we can organize something tomorrow to get you out for a while, even if we’ve got to go out of town.”

"I’d kill for the chance to go shoot some pool and play some darts somewhere," sighed Haden.

"Let’s just hope it doesn’t require any killing, for us to have a night out."

"Yeah," sighed Haden.  "We can give it a couple more days.  Maybe we’ll have a lead by then and we’ll be closer to putting an end to this."

"That would be nice," Glaive said without any real gusto.

Haden smiled at him, forgetting his own suffering in the face of his partner’s morose attitude.  “Hey, cheer up.  I’m alive and even though we haven’t found Sandman yet, he can’t get to us right now, either.  Something’s got to give eventually.”  He grunted and flopped an arm.  “I’d pat you on the shoulder, but my arms are like noodles right now.”

Glaive looked at him with amused coral eyes, though his expression was somewhat exasperated.  “Come on, let’s get you to the suite so you can shower.”

Haden sat up with a grunt of discomfort and he straightened his muscle shirt with effort when he realized it was riding up a little bit on his stomach.  “Thanks for keeping me in line, Glaive.”

"No more than you temper me when we’re on the field," answered the lishere with a brief smile.  "I might be in several pieces by now, if it weren’t for you encouraging caution during times when I was ready to dive into something."

Haden grinned at that and as they left the gym together, he thought of how well they fit together in the field, as well as in the bedroom.  Of course, they’d gotten themselves into trouble with their respective bosses many times since their departments merged.  Somehow, they always made it through these events and Haden believed they could make it through this one, too.

* * *

 

Azurel returned to headquarters early and Therril helped him carry a couple of bags into the suite he was sharing with their boss.  They found Zevian sitting at the table with a bottle of scotch that looked like it had been hit a few times and a tumbler glass.  He looked up at them as they walked through the door and he made a casual gesture of greeting.

"I thought you were going to the music festival in the park," Zevian said, his aqua gaze concealed behind the octagonal shades he was wearing over his eyes.  He frowned at the bags that Therril set down.  "What’s in there?"

"I bought you a couple of things while we were out," explained Azurel with a concerned frown.  "I found a shirt I thought you’d like and I also picked us up some takeout for later, since you aren’t up for going out.  I didn’t much feel like going to the music festival after the museum."  Actually, he crossed it off the list because he was worried and he didn’t want Zevian to be alone, after how odd he sounded over the phone.

"Do you need me for anything else, boss?" Therril asked.

Zevian shook his head.  “We’re good.  I’ll call you or Johnny if we need you guys for anything.”

"Thanks for coming out with me today," Azurel said to the bodyguard.  He always tried to remember to thank them, because if Zevian didn’t trust them so much to watch over him, he might not let him leave or worse…he might not have allowed him to come along at all.

Therril gave him a nod and he cast one more glance at the boss before taking his exit.  Azurel saw the hint of concern in the intimidating gangster’s eyes before he could conceal it and he knew he wasn’t the only one worried about Zevian.  When Therril was gone, Azurel made sure the door was locked before sorting out the contents of the bag.

"Good scotch?" he asked conversationally to his lover, testing the waters.  He was glad he decided to come home early, now that he saw the troubled cast of Zevian’s handsome features.  His instincts were right; something was definitely wrong and it wasn’t simple exhaustion.

"Mmm," agreed Zevian with a nod, lifting his tumbler and studying the liquor in it.  "Grab a glass for yourself when you’re finished with that and have a drink with me."

Azurel took note of the lack of invitational language in Zevian’s suggestion.  He wasn’t asking, he was _telling_.  Familiar with that tone and the trouble it could bring to anyone that defied it, the lifebearer nodded and moved quickly.  He wasn’t as fond of scotch as his lover, but he sensed that Zevian was getting ready to share something with him and he wasn’t about to complain.  He selected a tumbler and joined the sire at the table.  Zevian poured a drink for him and then he scooted his chair back and patted his lap invitingly. 

Azurel took the invitation and straddled his lap gracefully as he took his drink from the sire.  Zevian reached for his glass too and he clinked it against Azurel’s.  “Here’s to trying to live, gorgeous.”

"You have to _try_ , now?”  Azurel sipped his drink and stared at the bigger man, his concern deepening.  “Zevian, what happened today?”

"I just did some serous thinking today," answered the sire evasively.  He polished off his drink and reached around Azurel to put the glass on the table. 

Azurel swallowed more of his scotch as well and he shuddered a little before twisting around to put his glass down too.  He regarded his lover suspiciously and he reached out to take Zevian’s shades off.  The sire turned his head aside and tried to stop him, but Azurel would have none of it and he made a warning sound in his throat, defying the other man.  When he lifted the glasses off and saw the redness in Zevian’s aqua, feline eyes his concern increased.  He set the eyewear on the table and he stroked the sire’s face, trying hard to interpret his expression. 

Zevian Saber usually seemed…invincible.  Today, he looked downright mortal and _almost_ vulnerable.  “Talk to me, Zev.  Please.  What’s troubling you?”

 Zevian looked up at him, those strong hands of his settling on Azurel’s waist.  He rubbed up and down his sides slowly and he appeared to pull his thoughts together before speaking.  “You know I try to give you just about anything you want, right?”

 Azurel lowered his gaze and he toyed with the pendant around Zevian’s throat.  “Yes.  In fact, I’ve been feeling spoiled and I wanted to talk to you about that.  I don’t _need_ all this…stuff.  I don’t need you to take me out to expensive restaurants and lounges, I don’t need new clothes every week and I don’t need fancy jewelry.  All I really want is _you_.”

Zevian smiled without humor.  “Ah, but is that enough for you, flower?”  He traced the lifebearer’s fine-boned features with his fingertips, his eyes melancholy and far away. 

"I just told you."  Azurel caressed Zevian’s hand and gazed at him earnestly.  "I’m drawn to the man, not the power.  Is that what this is about?  Have I been acting too high maintenance?"

Zevian shook his head.  “No.  This is about a different sort of expectation.  I need to be sure you understand, because it isn’t fair to you if you don’t.”  He cupped his chin and stared into his eyes.  “Is what I can give you enough for you, Azurel?  I enjoy ‘spoiling’ you and I’m more than happy to give you my affection and as much attention as I can spare…but if there’s something more you need, you might be better off without me.”

Azurel finally understood what Zevian was saying and he swallowed a lump of familiar pain.  Of course, he wasn’t in love with him.  He already knew that, and he accepted it with the hope that one day, he’d find a place in the guild lord’s heart next to Urahis. 

"Zev, I know you love me in your own way," he answered softly.  He sifted his fingers through the long ponytail hanging down Zevian’s back, toying with the little braids mixed in with it and combing out a tangle.  "I understand you aren’t ready to love another the way you did Urahis, and I’m okay with that."

"And what if I’m _never_ ready for it?” demanded the sire, frowning.  “Don’t you think you deserve better than that?”

Truthfully, Azurel had thought long and hard about that possibility and though it hurt to think that the depth of his love might never be reciprocated, it hurt more to think of living _without_ Zevian as his lover.  “Some people get married or bonded and have children without ever being in love with each other.  Other people fall out of love, but stay with each other out of obligation or because it’s comfortable.”

He lowered his mouth to Zevian’s and kissed him softly, whispering the rest against his lips.  “As long as you don’t mistreat me, cheat on me or neglect me, it’s enough.  I could do a lot worse for myself, tiger.”

Zevian’s smile touched his eyes, this time.  “How did I ever think you were too young for me?  You’re surprisingly mature, for a kid.”

"And you’re surprisingly childish sometimes, for an old man."  Azurel winked playfully at him, feeling some of the angst lifting. 

The answer seemed to satisfy Zevian and he chuckled.  He kissed Azurel deeply before drawing back again and cupping Azurel’s bottom through the bleached denim pants he wore.  “You said you were going to give me a ‘special reward’ when we talked on the phone,” he murmured, “but I think you’re more deserving of one.”

* * *

 

Two hours later, Zevian was still demonstrating his sensual skills to the young lifebearer.  Azurel had barely recovered from their third round of lovemaking when Zevian went down on him—proving that even when he needed more time to recover, he was willing and able to keep taking care of Azurel’s needs.  The lifebearer bit his lip to control his moans as his lover’s efforts made him stiff and swollen again.    

So much for Zevian’s warnings that he was going to “wear him out”.  He was a tireless, creative lover and he didn’t rely heavily on intercourse to give Azurel pleasure.  In fact, the lifebearer began to wonder if Zevian’s persistent efforts might put him into a fertility cycle soon.  Oversexed and exhausted at the same time, he writhed on the bed and Zevian held him down, relentlessly sucking, licking and nibbling until Azurel arched and grabbed desperate fistfuls of sheets.

"Zev…Zevian…gods!"

The lifebearer’s perspiration-dampened, black-tipped bangs clung to his forehead and temples as he tossed his head again and nearly came, but Zevian stalled the orgasm by squeezing the base of his erection firmly.  Azurel whimpered with frustration and made a growling sound as the other man removed his fingers from inside of him, stopped sucking him off and stretched out on top of him. 

"Why…stop?"

Zevian traced his lips with the tip of his tongue and butted the head of his cock against his entrance before answering.  “I like feeling you come when I’m inside of you,” he murmured, “but I can keep going if you want.  It’s your call, gorgeous.”

The mere thought of feeling that thick cock nudge into his body again made Azurel buck in Zevian’s squeezing grip.  He rubbed against the sire greedily and put his arms around his neck.  “I want you inside me when I come, too.”

Zevian didn’t hesitate.  He eased his length into Azurel’s waiting snugness and they both groaned with the pleasure of it.  He waited for a moment and kissed the flushed, eager young man beneath him once he had him completely filled. 

"Better, flower?"  Zevian’s voice was a husky purr of satisfaction. 

Azurel stroked the sire’s broad shoulders and nibbled his lips, panting again as the fullness and pressure inside of him made his balls tighten and his pelvic muscles tense.  “I…I’m about to…oooh, Zev…”

Zevian smiled down at him and he withdrew with excruciating slowness and then delved back in, just as slowly.  The feel of the rigid shaft sliding inside of him pushed Azurel over the edge.  Zevian caught his hands and held them over his head, entwining their fingers together and holding him down as Azurel started to orgasm.

"Fuck, you squeeze tight when you come," observed Zevian breathlessly.  He smirked when Azurel instinctively strained against his hold and he held him down tighter, exciting him to the point of hysteria.  "Easy, baby."

Azurel clenched and bucked until he had nothing left to expel and he couldn’t hold back his cries of ecstasy.  Zevian was very good at satisfying his little kink for being restrained, without hurting him.  The sire slowed his pumping and held still within him while he recovered, mindful not to force his length within the tightened sheath. 

"More," demanded Azurel breathlessly when his body relaxed again.  His cock lay soft and smeared with his libation, temporarily sated.  It wouldn’t take much to make it stir again and even if it didn’t, he wanted to feel his lover spill himself inside of him. 

Zevian might lord over him physically and in terms of social authority, but when it came to getting what he wanted, Azurel rarely needed to ask twice.  The sire released his hold on him and he began to move again, kissing him deeply.  His pumps were slow and steady and his breath was starting to catch tellingly with each thrust. 

Zevian’s mobile phone went off and he swore softly and breathlessly. 

"Don’t answer it," suggested Azurel as his loving hands stroked and caressed the sire’s toned, sweating body.  He was beginning to harden again and he licked his lips.  "You can call them back.  Come for me, first."

"Bossy little thing," gasped Zevian.  He grunted and balanced his weight on one arm as he reached out for the phone he’d left on the bedside table.  "I can’t skip any calls right now, though.  Don’t worry…I’m not going to stop."

Azurel stared up at him with a slack mouth as Zevian activated the phone and spoke into it, keeping his deep voice amazingly even for a man close to an orgasm. 

"What is it?"  Zevian looked down at Azurel, still rhythmically flexing his hips.  The lifebearer moaned as the angle stroked his prostate and gave him a pulse of sensation, prompting Zevian to shush him with a wink. 

"Yes, Johnny…you interrupted something.  Talk fast."  Zevian lowered his head and brushed soft kisses over Azurel’s throat and jaw as he changed his rhythm to circular rotations. 

Azurel covered his mouth with his own hand to muffle himself.  He didn’t dare try to match his lover’s hip action while he was still on the phone, concentrating instead on keeping as quiet as he could. 

"Oh, really?"  Zevian’s breath caught for a second and he tugged on Azurel’s hoop-bedecked earlobe with his teeth, changing his rhythm again.  "Good.  Remind our people back home to keep security tight and have L’daris watched.  See you tomorrow."

Zevian turned the phone off and put it away before looking down at Azurel with flashing, lusty eyes.  “Now, where was I?”

"What was that about?" questioned the lifebearer thoughtlessly.

Zevian looked as though he might refuse to answer, but he shrugged.  “They got Xellnaise’s daughter back from her kidnappers.  Whitney’s safe at home again.”

Azurel smiled, happy for the kind guild lord and his adopted daughter.  “I’m glad.”

"There’s my good deed for the year," murmured Zevian.  He shifted smoothly on top of Azurel again, drawing a gasp from him.  "Now, back to the business of _us_.”

Now that it was safe to express himself again, Azurel clung to him and utilized his own erotic skills, undulating smoothly beneath Zevian and squeezing his ass encouragingly.  Zevian started pumping harder, his teeth clenching and his breath hissing out between them.  He buried his head against Azurel’s hair and he bucked into him almost hard enough to hurt as his peak overcame him.  Azurel rubbed his back and nuzzled his temple as the sire pulsed inside of his body and gave up his seed.  For long moments, Zevian trembled over him until he softened and calmed down.

"Stick a fork in me," sighed the guild lord after catching his breath, "I’m done.  That’s all I’ve got left in me today, baby."

Azurel smiled lazily, though he was fully erect again.  “You gave more than enough.  You’ve been the most attentive lover I’ve ever had, Zev.”

That seemed to please him and the exhausted guild lord lifted his head off Azurel’s shoulder to kiss him lingeringly on the mouth.  “I’ve still got some ‘attending’ to do, by the feel of things.”  He ground his stomach against the lifebearer’s erection meaningfully.

"That’s okay," assured Azurel.  "I’ve already come twice as much as you have.  You’re entitled to collapse."

Zevian kissed him again.  “Mmm, it goes against my nature to leave a lifebearer unsatisfied, gorgeous.”

Azurel tried to argue with him again, but the sire eased out of him and squirmed down on the mattress before he could get more than two words out.  The lifebearer gasped softly as Zevian’s lips slid over his cock and Zevian’s body language warned that he wouldn’t tolerate further argument.  Azurel smiled blissfully and stroked Zevian’s hair.  Some arguments were worth losing.

* * *

 

That night after eating, showering and changing the bedding, Zevian lay in bed with his young lover and he watched him sleep.  Maybe he was selfish, or maybe it was due to Urahis’ spirit coming to him and encouraging him to move on, but he was glad that Azurel chose to stay with him, even after his confession that he may never love him as he deserved.  He reached out to touch the smooth, silky cheek and he admired Azurel’s features in the moonlit darkness.  He liked to think of himself as a gentleman at the core, and he didn’t want to hurt him.  Whether he’d done the right thing by Azurel with his decision to try and make this work remained to be seen, but Zevian was tired of being alone.  The encounter with Urahis—while painful—had given him some much-needed closure.

He tried not to think of the trials that yet awaited him with the awakening of his latent abilities and he made a silent vow to his deceased mate.  He promised to stop seeking death, he promised to get help for his spirit singing before he started to follow his sire into madness, and he promised to try and live again.  Until now, Orindel was the only reason he really cared whether he lived or died.

None of it was going to be easy for him, but it was what Urahis wanted…and that made it worth it to Zevian. 

* * *

 

-To be continued 


	14. Chapter 14

* * *

It was like Sandman knew they had detailed information on him.  He seemed to go “dark” after his little trick with the pigeon in Haden’s apartment, and when several days passed after Shard’s arrival with no further activity or leads on him, they began to worry that he’d left town.  As it turned out, all they needed to do was dig in the right places.  Agent McFarlane managed to track down a sire escort that recently spent the night with someone who possibly matched Sandman’s description, and she confirmed it after interviewing him with Glaive.  His description of Tsyther matched his identity, except for the face—which he couldn’t remember.

"It’s funny," the escort told them, scratching his dimpled chin with a frown.  "I know there was something about his face that really caught my attention, but I can’t remember what.  I can’t even tell you what color eyes he had.  Nice body, though."

Lily looked at Glaive sidelong and noted the subtle expression of concentration on his features.  “What else can you tell us about the encounter, sir?  We don’t need intimate details,” she hastily amended when the silver-haired sire smirked and started to open his mouth, “we just need to know if you recall him saying anything that might help us locate him.”

"Hmm."  The handsome escort considered the question and took a drag from his cigarette, polite enough to blow it away from the direction of the two agents.  "He seemed to like gambling.  He asked who I liked for the horse race that was going on that weekend.  I know you said you don’t want the gory details, but you might want to keep an eye on fetish shops and venues."

"Of what sort, exactly?"  Glaive raised an interested brow.

The escort grimaced and lowered his pale green eyes.  “Sado masochism, mostly.  He liked it rough.  Like…painful rough.”

"He hurt you?" questioned Lily, her voice level even though her brows knitted.

The sire shrugged and looked away, taking another drag on his cigarette.  “He warned me before we got started, so I guess I can’t complain.  He had me tied up and gagged the whole time and he used nipple clamps and a cock ring on me.  He got off on denying me any gratification.  What does _that_ tell you?”

"Sounds rapey to me," muttered Lily with a grimace.  "The man gets a high out of hurting his sexual partners and he doesn’t want them to get off with him. It’s more about power over someone else than the sex."

"Thank you for your cooperation," Glaive said to the escort before Lily could say more.  To her surprise, he took out his wallet and offered the man fifty credits.  "For your trouble."

The sire considered the money and after a moment, he shook his head and declined it.  “Thanks, but I’m happy to help for free.  That guy _hurt_ me and I don’t know how, but I think he fucked with my head.  I hope he goes down _hard_.”

Glaive smirked.  “We’re doing our best to make that happen.  If this ‘Mr. Lightfoot’ tries to procure your services again, contact us immediately.”  He gave the sire his department’s contact card and Agent McFarlane did he same.  “I’d rather not see you or your fellow escorts get caught up in this.”

"Will do," agreed the escort.  He put his smoke out and followed them to the door of his suite, shaking hands with both of them.  "Thanks.  I know most people don’t care what happens to sex workers…even the legit ones like us.  It’s nice to know _someone_ in law enforcement cares at least a little.”

* * *

 

As they walked back to their car in the parking lot of the establishment, Lily looked up at the lishere beside her thoughtfully.  Noticing her glance, Glaive looked back at her.

"What?"

She shook her blonde head and gave him a cheeky smirk.  “Nothing much.  I’m just impressed.  You almost sounded like a professional in there, Agent Glaive.”

He returned her smirk.  “So did you, Agent McFarlane.  Perhaps we’re growing up.”

"I think we are," she agreed.  "If there’s a bright side to this Sandman crap, it’s that it’s forced us to pull our shit together.  I think our departments are a lot more organized now than they ever were before."

Glaive nodded and as they stopped before his car, he opened the passenger side door for her.  “You’re not half bad, Lily.”

She offered him a little smile and got in.  “Back at you, Glaive.”

* * *

 

"So right now, he seems to be using willing parties to practice his masochism," finished Glaive to the directors and the panel.  Only selected agents were participating in this meeting, as there were suspicions of betrayal among the ranks.  "We may have more luck if we keep a tight watch on all the local fetish shops, too."

Idrisar exchanged a troubled look with Ammiteo.  “From what you’ve described, this man is only a step away from becoming a rapist, on top of everything else.”

Glaive shook his head.  “I doubt it.  While I’m sure Mentor has it in him to violate someone sexually if he thinks there’s something to gain by it, he wouldn’t leave a trail of rape victims.  He’s gone quiet now for a reason, and I think it’s because he knows we’ve begun to close in on him.  He can’t afford to be flamboyant, much as I’m sure he’d love to keep terrorizing Agent Wolfe and I.”

 ”So all we have to do to find him is monitor all the porn activity in the city,” Haden said dryly.  “Wow…who knew it was so simple?  I mean, _nobody_ in Valkyrie Falls is into S &M, right?”

"Sarcasm from the optimist?"  Glaive feigned shock.  "Whatever shall we _do_?”

"It’s better than nothing," insisted Zevian.  He turned the glass of water before him around and around on the table.  "Whorehouses, fetish shops and gambling dens are your best bet right now.  The old man’s lying low…probably waiting for some of the heat to die off as Agent Glaive suggests.  He’ll try to keep you off-balance, leaving you wondering when he’ll make his next move.  That kind of shit makes people nervous…makes them slip up."

Shard looked at each of them contemplatively.  “I can try to do some divinations tonight,” he offered.  “Although I’m sure there are people more adept at it than I already making use of augury magicks to find this man.”

Kent frowned at the sorcerer.  “I don’t want to be rude, but didn’t they _send_ you to help us track Sandman down?  Ammiteo was told he was getting an expert.”

"And you _are_ getting an expert,” assured Shard evenly.  He absently studied the onyx and malachite slave bracelet and ring on his left hand, toying with the ornate, jeweled chain connecting them together.  “But I never claimed to be an expert at divination.  What I’m ultimately here for, Director Kent, is to ensure that once your people _do_ corner this suspect, he doesn’t get away.”

His gaze was so direct and unwavering that Kent looked away.  “I see.”

* * *

 

Later that evening, Shard returned to the hotel room he was sharing with an old friend who had arrived in town the night before.  He murmured a soft phrase under his breath as he shut and locked the door behind him, and the lights came on dimly.  He approached the little table by the window overlooking the city and he squatted down to open his bag of goodies lying on the floor beside it.  He opened a velvet sack and procured a clear crystal ball from within it, about three inches in diameter.  He set this on the table and glanced over his shoulder at the bed—where the lump beneath the covers had begun to stir.

Now that he was in familiar company, he lapsed back into a more comfortable speech pattern.  “Don’t you think it’s about time you arose from your coffin, Milady?”

A pale, feminine hand emerged from beneath the covers and flipped him off.

Shard clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.  “So un-delicate.  So un-ladylike.”

"So not in the mood for your pompous litanies," answered the woman’s voice around a yawn.  She sat up and stretched before combing her fingers through her mussed, collar-length black hair.  Eyes the color of stormy skies regarded him from beneath straight black brows—lifebearer eyes with large irises.  "So did you confirm it or not?" 

He chuckled and returned his attention to the crystal ball as she got out of the bed and tugged the extra long t-shirt she used as a nightgown over her head to get changed.  “Indeed, I have.  Agent Wolfe is in fact a descendant of the very same family as your father was—on the human side, that is.  After a combination of magical and technological research—along with enough swear words to make me sound like _you_ —I got a good enough look at his genetic unmentionables to be certain of it.”

She finished pulling on a pair of jeans and she slipped on a black singlet top.  “I’ll be damned.”

"That’s exactly what I said," agreed Shard.  "You really should try familiarizing yourself with the internet, wildcat.  It’s a very useful tool for research…perhaps a little _too_ useful.”

She grimaced delicately and picked up her mobile phone from the nightstand.  “No thanks.  I have enough trouble with _this_ thing.  ‘ _Smart phone’_ , my ass.  It has all the intelligence of a dried turd.  I can’t get the fucking thing to cooperate.”

"That’s because you lack patience," countered the lifebearer.  "Electronics take some finesse, my sweet.  Modern technology is like magic, in a way."

"Then _you_ deal with it,” she grumbled, making her way to the bathroom archway.  “I’ll handle the physical things.  I’m best at that, anyway.” 

He started trying to concentrate on divining some clue as to the location of Sandman’s whereabouts, but his female companion’s voice distracted him again.  “So, we’ve found another descendant.”  She opened the bottle of whiskey sitting by the sink, poured a glass for herself and returned to the bed to sit on it.  “And this one’s in trouble.”

"Yes," agreed Shard.  "When I read the case, I knew I had to come.  This man…this _Tsyther_ …wants to take revenge on his formal pupil—at Agent Wolfe’s expense.  They are partners in work and lovers in bed.  What better way to hurt someone than to take away that which is most dear to him?” 

She sipped her drink and grimaced.  “Or _her_ , as the case may be.  All right, so we’re going to protect him, aye?”

"That would be the plan, yes."  His silver eyes went to the drink in her hand.  "You didn’t offer one of those to me, precious."

She got up and carried the drink to him.  “So take this one and quit bellyaching.”

He chuckled.  “I was teasing.  Drink your whisky.  We’ll go out for a bite to eat after I finish this.  There’s a fish and chip shop down the block.”

"Fancy."  She took another swallow and gestured at the crystal ball.  "So what are you going to try and do with that thing?"

He sighed.  “I’m going to try—and probably fail—to spy on our suspect.  He’s a spirit singer, however.  He has ways to repel augury attempts and my brother was better with divination than I am, even as a dabbler.  Until I can see this madman face to ugly face, I’m not likely to pick up anything.”

"Still more likely to get something than any of these modern sorcerers," she predicted.  "They’re all still wet behind the ears."

"Don’t underestimate them," he warned.  "Some of them have naturally evolved with more raw power than anyone in our day was ever endowed with—and I’m not just talking about sorcerers.  The key is in finding how to tap that power.  Ignorance of their own potential is all that really holds them back."

"If you say so."  She shrugged slender shoulders and sighed, her gaze going to the window.  "Sometimes I wish I’d just stayed asleep.  Everyone’s gone, now."

"Not _everyone_ ,” reminded Shard.  “And spending the rest of your life dormant in a hibernation state would be a waste.  Both of your parents would agree with me.  At least this gives us a purpose.”

"Defending the blood line," she mused, smirking.  "I’ll buy that."

"Good."  He smiled at her and he didn’t notice that his crystal ball was beginning to roll toward the edge of the table.  "It will get better.  You’ll see.  All you need is a little—"

The ball fell over the side of the table and landed on the hardwood floor with an ominous crack.  Shard looked down at it, bent over and picked it up.  He held the object up and studied the fracture now running through it with a frown.

"Oh, damn.  Now I need a new crystal ball."

* * *

 

The week passed by without a peep from Sandman or any further leads.  They investigated within their ranks for possible traitors, but they were drawing blanks so far.  Both Shard and Glaive began to scan agents on both sides without their knowledge, seeking out any sign of psychic manipulation or nefarious intent.  In frustration, Glaive discussed it at length with Shard and he informed him that Sandman had a talent for masking his signature.  Even if he _did_ have a contact on the inside, it was likely that he’d masked it so completely that they might not find the culprit until it was too late.  Shard shrugged it off and told Glaive that if there was one thing he’d learned in his many years on Wyndrah, it was that villains couldn’t resist tormenting their targets and gloating about it, sooner or later.  He was confident that Sandman would slip up, eventually.

Meanwhile, Zevian worked with the agency tirelessly during the day, determined to put an end to his sire’s terrorism, one way or the other.  When he wasn’t helping with the case, he was giving Azurel his attention; either taking him out on dates or making love to him.  He told no-one of the whispers at the edge of his consciousness, trusting Urahis to hold them at bay for as long as he could.   

As for Agent Wolfe, he was suffering a bad case of stir craziness and by the week’s end, he couldn’t stand it any longer.  He went straight to his boss and pleaded with him to allow a brief holiday.

"Sir, I’ve _got_ to get out and do something,” Haden complained to his director.  Beside him, Glaive looked warily supportive.  “I’ve been cooped up in this building for a week, now!  I know the agency doesn’t want me unmonitored but my life can’t just end because of one psycho.  I feel like I’m in jail, here!”

Director Kent held a hand up for silence and rubbed his forehead.  “I understand how you feel, Agent, but do I need to remind you that this man got past trained Ulvari agents, security cameras and two personal bodyguards when he went after Dr. Adder?  We can’t blow it off as incompetence, either.  Even with the communication issues the agency had during that incident, nobody should have been able to get that close to the subject without being seen or heard.  Sandman isn’t a normal criminal, by far.”

"I know, but isn’t this just what he wants?" pressed Haden.  "He’s lying in wait, probably having a good chuckle over us biting our nails waiting for him to make a move.  I can’t _live_ like this, Sir.  Please, just give me the weekend somewhere out of town.  I need some fresh air and sunshine.  I’m sure there’s some kind of vitamin in sunlight that humans need and I don’t want to start losing my hair.  I’m pale enough as it is, sir.  I’m going to start looking like I’ve been living in a cave and going blind to adapt.”

"Haden, I was kidding about you going blind as a bat," Glaive assured his worried partner, shooting an amused glance at Kent.  "But can you see how being cooped up is affecting his mental facilities, Director?  He _does_ need to get out and Director Ammiteo has already agreed to send myself and another agent with him for security.  We just need you to agree to let him go and we’ll take him to one of the remote islands off the coast of New Tariff to the south.  There’s a resort there and a weekend on the beach would do him some good.”

Kent sighed.  He had an almost paternalistic attitude with Haden and his other young agents, though Wolfe was older than he appeared.  He didn’t want to torture him and for a guy like Haden, being locked up with nothing to do was surely worse than being waterboarded.  The poor kid was miserable—it was plain on his face.  He looked like a teenager asking to go out past curfew right now and Kent suppressed a smile, reminding himself that this was about protecting Haden, not punishing him.

"I’ll talk to Ammiteo about it and see what we can work out," he promised.  "In the meantime, just try to keep yourself occupied."

Haden relaxed a little and gave him an enthusiastic smile.  “Thanks, boss!  I knew I could count on you.”

"I haven’t agreed to let you go yet," warned Kent, but he knew it was a hollow reminder and Wolfe sensed it.  He had already caved, because he couldn’t stand seeing one of his best agents so miserable.

* * *

 

After speaking with Kent about the matter, Ammiteo called Idrisar into his office.  He smiled faintly at the lifebearer when he arrived and shut the door behind him.  Idrisar looked very nice today in a pair of cobalt blue trousers and a white button-up shirt.  Ammiteo noticed that the tips of the lifebearer’s bangs had begun to darken to black and he found it interesting, even as he wondered over the phenomena. 

Metallic hair colors were the most common among their race—particularly silver and gold shades.  Reds weren’t as common and the exotic shades of violet, blue and black were generally restricted to lashran with certain bloodlines—along with dual-colored streaks like Zevian’s and two-toned shades like Idrisar’s and Azurel’s.  Allegedly, the genetic trait for these exotic hair colors originated in Rhuidhim, but these days the bloodline seemed to be concentrated around Zarn.  Lashran with solid black hair were as rare as moon pearls, and they were usually regarded with superstitious wariness.    

"Please, have a seat," offered the director, gesturing at the chairs on the other side of the desk.  "I have a matter to discuss with you."

Idrisar gave him a polite smile and complied, his pale eyes curious behind the rectangular frames of the glasses he wore today.  “How can I help, Director?”

Ammiteo resisted another smile.  Most other agents would have first asked what this was about, but Idrisar immediately offered his services without question.  “Straight to the point.  I appreciate your attitude, Agent Blackbird.  I need to assign someone to accompany Agent Glaive and his partner to one of the southern islands off the coast, this weekend.  Wolfe needs a little R&R, after being cooped up and off-duty this week.  The agency counselor recommended it and since our suspect seems to have gone quiet, Kent and I have agreed to it.”

Idrisar looked quietly troubled and his dark brows knitted in thought.  “I understand Agent Wolfe must be feeling stir crazy, but is it wise for him to travel now?  I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of how easily Sandman slipped past our security before.”

"No, you don’t need to remind me," answered Ammiteo with a sigh and a frown.  "Believe me, I already went over this with both him and Agent Glaive.  They’re adamant and upon careful consideration, Kent and I have decided it’s better for Wolfe to get out of town for the weekend with an armed escort, than to sit and stew here.  The more restless he gets, the more careless he’ll become."

Idrisar took this into consideration and he smirked and shook his head.  “I don’t know why, but I can easily imagine Wolfe sneaking out of this establishment like a teenager breaking curfew…and Glaive would naturally be his accomplice.  You’re right, sir.  It’s better to let him get it out of his system than keep him cooped up here until he snaps.”

"I’m glad you see it that way.  Given Sandman’s expressed interest in doing harm to Agent Wolfe, I can’t think of anyone I trust more to help keep him safe.  As of now, our case is at a standstill and I fear our suspect is going to keep lying low until he’s ready to strike again.  Will you take the assignment to protect Agent Wolfe over the weekend, Idrisar?"

Maybe it was a mistake to use the lifebearer’s given name, but these days Ammiteo felt so at ease around him that in certain situations, it just felt wrong to be rigidly formal.  The reassuring little smile Idrisar gave him told him that he hadn’t overstepped himself and perhaps the lifebearer felt the same trust and connection.

"Of course," agreed Idrisar.  "Nothing groundbreaking is likely to happen over the weekend while we’re away and if it does, I’m sure you’ll handle it."

"You have my gratitude," Ammiteo said sincerely.  "It’s possible that you might see some action before we do, if Sandman finds out his target is leaving the safety of this building.  Be on your guard, Blackbird.  I want everyone to return home safely."

Idrisar nodded, his gaze softening on the sire.  “Absolutely…Ammiteo.”

* * *

 

That very evening, Haden and his chosen escorts left headquarters inconspicuously.  Only select people were told about the knight’s little weekend vacation, and he was disguised as an electrician when he left the building with Idrisar and Malcolm—both of which were also dressed as electricians.  Glaive left shortly after that with Shard, driving his car to the airport to meet up with the others.  The sorcerer had argued long and hard with the directors for the right to come along on the trip, and what finally convinced him was the reality of how much safer Haden would be with a sorcerer of Shard’s power close at hand. 

Ammiteo and Kent watched from the latter’s office window as Glaive’s sleek golden sports car exited the parking garage and took off down the street.  The lashran director sighed softly and his human companion glanced at him sidelong.  Trey’s hazel eyes were thoughtful on the taller man and he looked at the service van just turning the corner at the end of the street.  Inside of that van were Haden, Idrisar and Malcolm.

"It’s a good, solid plan," murmured Kent. 

Ammiteo nodded.  It was his idea to have Glaive travel in a separate vehicle.  If they were to assume that Sandman was watching his every move, it stood to risk blowing Haden’s cover if the lishere left the building with him.  Even if he’d worn a disguise like the others, the way Glaive talked, Tsyther might have recognized him anyway.  The van would stop at the Valkyrie Electric building and its passengers would continue to the airport in a different vehicle from there, taking the back route.  Glaive and Shard would meet up with them at the gate.

"I think we picked a good team," Kent went on.  "I know I wasn’t wildly supportive of his theory that we have a mole, but your Agent Blackbird is one good egg.  I feel better knowing he’s on the assignment, to tell you the truth."

Ammiteo managed a smile, his concern for the safety of his people—especially Idrisar—momentarily dulled by a sense of pride.  “I agree.”

* * *

 

They changed out of their electrician getups when they switched cars and they made it to the airport without incident.  Haden wasn’t too thrilled about Shard coming with, but he was too nice to complain about it.  The sorcerer made him uneasy—not because he had a “bad” feeling about him, but because of the way he looked at him with a haunting familiarity in those piercing eyes.  They boarded the plane and before long, they were in the air and on their way to the resort off the coast of New Tariff. 

Idrisar sat with Malcolm a couple of rows ahead of them.  Haden and Glaive sat across the isle from Shard and Haden kept watching the silver-haired lashran out the corner of his eye.  Shard was sitting by the window and he was staring outside at the sky contemplatively.  He had the whole row to himself and he had taken advantage of that fact to put his carry-on bag on the empty seat beside him.  In that uncanny way of his, the sorcerer seemed to sense Haden’s covert stare and he looked directly at him.

Just before Haden looked away, Shard smiled at him. 

"Dude, why is _he_ on this trip?” Haden whispered to his partner, finally uneasy enough to say something about it.  “I thought he was supposed to be helping the department track down Sandman at home, not babysitting me.”

 Glaive glanced up from the magazine he was browsing through and he smiled a little.  “Relax, mate.  He’s coming along as added insurance and he just wants to keep you safe, like I do.”

"Your sure he didn’t trick your scan somehow?  I heard Agent Blackbird managed to do that with some guild lord’s spirit singer while they were in Zarn."

Glaive gazed at him evenly, his coral eyes confident and sincere.  “Shard has his quirks, no doubt, but I’ve got no reason to believe he’s deceiving us about his desire to help.  Even if you don’t trust him, trust _me_ , Haden.”

Haden naturally couldn’t dispute that, and he sighed.  “Okay.  If you say he’s cool, then I guess he’s cool.  I just wish I knew what his story was and why he’s so interested in me.”

Glaive cast a look over at the sorcerer before nodding.  “Believe me; I’m just as curious about that as you are.  It should be an interesting account, if he ever decides to share it with us.”

Agent Blackbird got out of his seat and their conversation halted as he approached and leaned over to speak softly to them.  “We should arrive at the destination in two hours, according to the flight schedule.  Both of you please remember that just because this is technically a vacation for Agent Wolfe, danger doesn’t sleep.  Nobody relaxes until we’ve scoped out the facilities and confirmed that it’s safe, understand?”

Haden nodded.  “Got it.  I won’t let my guard down until you say so, Agent Blackbird.”

Idrisar nodded in approval.  “Good.  Forests willing, this situation will be resolved before long and your life can return to normal.”

"Hope so," grumbled the knight.

* * *

 

They arrived at the Sea Spray resort right on time and though he wanted to help his companions check the place out, Haden dutifully waited in the car while they investigated.  Glaive came back to give Haden the thumbs-up when security was confirmed. Through it all, Haden was quietly stoic and he reminded himself that he was lucky to be _on_ this little vacation at all.  This department-sponsored, weekend getaway wasn’t cheap and they’d gone through the added trouble of footing the bill for his companions, to give him added safety.  If anything, he should be thanking his lucky stars that he wasn’t still stuck in headquarters, unable to even set foot outside without the risk of that maniac trying to kill him.

Idrisar was kind to him, though stern.  He asked what he would like to do first, while simultaneously reminding him not to stray from his companions.  Haden didn’t know if the paternal way Idrisar treated him was more amusing or annoying.  Agent Blackbird looked no older than twenty-five himself, but he made Haden feel like a kid on a school field trip.  Given his and Glaive’s past track record for getting into trouble together and the severity of the situation, Haden supposed he couldn’t blame Idrisar for keeping a tight watch on them.

The first thing Haden did after sorting things out in the room he was sharing with Glaive was to demand a walk on the beach, under the moonlight.  “It’s a nice, breezy night and it’s not too cold,” he said to his partner as he laid out his sleep pants for bed.  “How about it, Glaive?  Come take a walk with me.”

Glaive looked at him with a long-suffering sigh, but he smirked and nodded.  “Perhaps some fresh air will do you some good.  Let’s not go unarmed, however.”

"Right." 

He checked his gun before holstering it and slipping his blazer on.  Glaive already had his knives tactfully concealed at his thighs, secured within sheaths that blended in with his leather pants so seamlessly they were nearly invisible.  Together, they left their room and walked out to the beach.

* * *

 

"I think I could learn to like it here," Glaive announced as he sipped the daiquiri he’d picked up from the beach bar.  Haden had one too, after being pressured by Glaive to try something besides beer. 

"Not bad," commented the knight after a few experimental swallows.  "Makes my teeth hurt, though."

"That’s because you’re trying to inhale it."  Glaive chuckled at him.  "You’re getting a brain freeze.  Just slow down a bit."

"I guess I’m just more stressed than I thought," sighed the brunet.  He took his companion’s advice and drank more slowly.  He looked out at the night horizon, admiring the way the half-moon reflected on the waves of the ocean.  The night was cool, but not unpleasantly so.  The ocean breeze stirred his hair and made his blazer billow.  Out a bit.  He looked sidelong at his partner and he admired the way the lunar light shone on his pale hair.  His gaze went to the lishere’s hoop and stud bedecked, delicately pointed ear and impulse took over.

Glaive jumped a little as Haden leaned toward him and caught his earlobe between his lips, sucking on it briefly and tonguing the piercings.  He looked at the human with widened eyes as Haden pulled back and gave him a sheepish grin and a shrug.

"I know we have a thing about keeping it out of public view back home," excused Haden, "but we’re not home right now and there’s nobody nearby to see it.  I figured I could give you a little loving without causing some drama."

Glaive’s eyes became heavy-lidded as he thought it over.  “Hmm, you make a compelling point.  In that case—”

He stopped, turned Haden toward him and slipped his hands into the knight’s blazer, embracing him around the waist.  He pulled Haden to him and he kissed him with open, unabashed passion.  His tongue slipped past his lips and the little barbell piercing teasingly bumped against the roof of Haden’s mouth.  It turned the knight on instantly and he stroked Glaive’s exploring tongue with his own, inviting the interaction.  He put his arms around he lishere and for a little while, nothing else seemed to exist to him. 

"Won’t let him hurt you," murmured Glaive between kisses, almost feverishly.

Haden pulled back and regarded the silver-haired man with gentle concern.  “Hey, you’re still stressing too hard over this.  We’re here to relax over the weekend, sexy.”

Glaive looked both chagrined and frustrated at the same time.  He combed his fingers through Haden’s tumbled waves and sighed.  “I don’t want to spoil this getaway for you.  I just can’t bear the thought of you being hurt.  If that makes me a pussy, so be it.”

Haden chortled softly and gave him a sound kiss on the lips.  “If it’s any consolation, I feel the same about you.  Let’s try to put it aside, though.  You need to loosen up and have a little fun, or you _will_ spoil this for me.”

"Well, I can think of _one_ thing that might loosen me up.”  Glaive slid his hands down to cup and squeeze Haden’s ass.  He brought his mouth to the knight’s ear to whisper the second part into it.  “I want to have my way with you, love.  That’s the price I ask for loosening up.”

Excited by the thought, Haden lined his pelvis up with Glaive’s and pressed against him, murmuring back huskily.  “Then I guess I’ll have to pay up.  Let’s head back to the room.”

* * *

 

Idrisar listened to the sounds of passion that the walls couldn’t quite muffle completely and he sighed.  He certainly didn’t begrudge the two agents the right to intimacy.  Forests knew, they deserved a little rest and relaxation together and to their credit, Wolfe and Glaive were discreet with their affection while on the clock. 

What was really troubling him was the simple fact that everyone seemed to be getting some except for him.  The Ulvari agent snorted and shook his head, staring up at the rotating blades of the ceiling fan.  Now wasn’t the time to contemplate his abysmally barren sex life.  He told himself that, yet his mind went to both Ammiteo and Zevian, replaying recent encounters with both sires that could have resulted in sex. 

He’d had his chance…he could have had one of them rutting over him, with their larger frames straining and sweat beading their brows.  He could have heard their husky groans in his ear as he demonstrated that he hadn’t forgotten how to make a sire’s body sing with pleasure.  One of Idrisar’s guilty weaknesses when it came to shallow things was his attraction to powerful, masculine physiques—which both men possessed, though their builds were different.  Whether he’d acted with Zevian or with Ammiteo, he had no doubt he would have thoroughly enjoyed feeling either man’s strong muscles flexing and tensing beneath his hands.

Idrisar’s breath quickened subtly as his mind’s eye conjured up an image of Ammiteo.  It was an exercise of sheer willpower to resist staring at him when he saw him shirtless in the gym or coming out of the shower.  Idrisar shut his eyes and moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, his groin swelling rapidly in his pajama bottoms.  He thought of the time recently when he’d seen Ammiteo rubbing some muscle cream into his broad shoulders and his mind inappropriately went to dirty places.  Something meant to treat sore muscles and sprains suddenly became a tool for foreplay and he groaned softly at the thought of spreading the cream all over Ammiteo’s toned pectorals, rippling abs, biceps and deltoids. 

"Dammit," gasped Idrisar, tossing his head on the pillow. 

One hand unerringly crept under the waistline of his pants to fondle the erection he was sporting.  Reminding himself that it wasn’t a crime for lifebearers to relieve themselves through masturbation—despite what his Nandarian upbringing said—he tugged the covers down and exposed himself to the cool night air.  He usually preferred to rely on Amsinol when he was feeling particularly restless, if meditation couldn’t bring it under control.  Sometimes, however, a good hand job was the best fix.  He shut his eyes and imagined that it was Ammiteo’s strong, calloused hand stroking him and he sighed the director’s name, giving in to his body’s needs.

* * *

 

The next day, Haden went surfing and surprisingly, Glaive declined joining him.  Malcolm was happy to join in and Idrisar sat on the beach and watched with Glaive as the knight operatives suited up, grabbed a board and hit the waves.  Glaive offered to get the senior Ulvari a daiquiri, but Idrisar declined. 

"Technically, I shouldn’t even be in this bathing suit," sighed Idrisar with a glance down at the purple swimming briefs he wore.  His hair was still drying from his brief dip in the ocean.  "I should be prepared for conflict at all times, and this doesn’t offer any concealment for weapons."

Glaive smirked subtly, covertly admiring the lifebearer’s toned physique and the way the clinging water droplets made his bronze skin glisten.  The glint of the Ulvari ID tags resting against his chest on the ball chain around his neck just added more sex appeal to him.  Whether Idrisar thought his choice to wear the swimmers was inappropriate or not, he certainly looked good in them. 

"Things won’t fall apart the moment you enjoy yourself a bit," advised Glaive. 

"Even so, I should change into something more appropriate," answered the lifebearer, checking his watch.  "I’ve had my ‘fun’ for the day and I should probably check in on Shard.  He hasn’t come out of his room yet and it’s getting close to noon."

Glaive didn’t argue with him.  At least Idrisar had indulged himself a _little_ , and that in itself was a miracle.  When he was “on the clock”, Agent Blackbird took putting business before pleasure a bit to the extreme.

* * *

 

Idrisar had a quick shower before changing into a more sensible outfit composed of a pair of loose blue cargo pants and a black t-shirt.  He checked his weapons and concealed them with practiced tact, making sure they were within easy reach if he needed them.  He slipped his Mokalor on last and secured it before combing through his damp hair so that it would dry in the style he wore it in.  That finished, he pocketed his phone and left his room.  He went to Shard’s door and he started to knock, but he could hear the sorcerer’s voice on the other side of the door and he went still, listening with trained ears.  He had no reason to spy on the man, but something he detected in the tone of his voice gave him pause.  He looked around to be sure nobody was on the pathway to see him and he put his ear to the door. 

* * *

 

"You aren’t going to make a habit out of this, are you?" her voice grumbled sleepily on the other line, "because I thought I made it clear that I’m a night owl."

Shard smirked.  “Sorry to wake you before sundown again, wildcat, but I want to be sure you have everything set up and ready to go on your end.  So far, it’s all going smoothly here.”

"You have nothing to worry about," she assured him.  "I’ve contacted some of my associates from the Zarn area and they might have something of use to us within the next few days.  In the meantime, I’m keeping a close eye on the Alliance headquarters.  I haven’t much to offer besides my boot to kick this cretin’s ass, but I’m ready to use it if he makes an appearance, nonetheless."

"I know I can count on you to do just that, my dear."  Shard smiled.  "And rest assured, I will be doing my part here until the object of this endeavor returns to Valkyrie Falls.  I’ll let you get back to your beauty sleep, now.  I hope you remembered not to eat three hours before you went to bed.  We can’t have you getting out of shape, can we?"

"Don’t be a smart ass.  Of the two of us, yours is the ass that spends the most time sitting.  You ought to be more concerned about your own weight than mine."

He chuckled.  “Point well-taken.  I’ll contact you when we’re getting ready to return, unless something of interest happens and we need to speak sooner.”

"All right.  Don’t get into too much trouble."

He ended the call and put his phone away.  He turned to head out the door, intending to find out where Haden and his companions went.  He found himself face-to-face with Idrisar Blackbird—and the slim barrel of a compact ion revolver.  He blinked startled, pale gray eyes at the other lifebearer, who stared back with an unwavering blue gaze behind the oval lenses of his glasses. 

Shard got over his initial surprise quickly, reminding himself that this man was an Ulvari agent and not a ghost.  A glance at the front window revealed that Idrisar had used that as his entry point, rather than the chain-locked door.  He’d managed to pry it open, slip in and sneak up behind Shard without so much as a whisper of sound.  Of course, if Shard hadn’t been so distracted with his phone conversation, he might have sensed him.  Since the protective spell he’d placed on his room exempted Haden’s companions as enemies, it was no wonder it didn’t react to the intrusion.

"Well, aren’t _you_ a creeper?”  Shard held his hands out slowly, puzzled but not yet alarmed.  “You remind me of a friend who incidentally became my son in law—in a manner of speaking.  Pardon me for seeming dense, but is there a _reason_ you’re holding a gun on me?”

"Who is ‘ _Wildcat_ ’?”  Idrisar didn’t blink and his aim didn’t waver.

Shard was beginning to understand—or at least suspect—the reason behind this ambush.  The Ulvari must have heard some of his conversation with his companion back home and drawn unsavory conclusions about it.  “Have you been monitoring my personal calls somehow, agent?”

"Answer my question," demanded the Ulvari tonelessly.  "Who were you speaking to and what exactly are they ‘setting up on their end’?"

"You realize I could make that weapon explode in your hand before you fire a shot?" challenged Shard, not one to be intimidated.

Idrisar extended the claws of the intricate weapon adorning his left hand.  “And I could cut your tongue out before you can utter an arcane phrase.”

Looking at the deadly glint of the blades, Shard had no doubt he could.  He knew how fast a good Ulvari operative could move and he wasn’t about to underestimate this man.  “Well played.  To answer your question, ‘ _Wildcat_ ' is a pet name for one of my oldest, dearest friends.  She's been staying with me at the suite my guild arranged for me in Valkyrie Falls while I'm assisting with this case.  She has connections with the pirate circles around the Zarn islands that might prove useful, to that end.  She's doing what she can to help and she's keeping an eye on your headquarters, while we're away.”

Idrisar’s tension eased somewhat, but he didn’t lower his weapon.  “Who is ‘she’, and while we’re on that subject, who exactly are _you_ , really?”

The sorcerer sighed.  “So that’s the way of it, eh?  Very well.  Vurkanan Darshaw, at your service.”  He gave a graceful, sweeping bow, ignoring the gun on him for the moment.  “And my female companion is Aurora Darshaw; daughter of my brother in law Lythallendar.”

Idrisar frowned with concentration.  “‘Darshaw’,” he repeated softly, “I know that name.  I know the name ‘Vurkanan’ as well.  He was…” He trailed off as if struggling to remember.

Vurkanan obliged him.  “The founder of that fine magic university you have in your fair city—though I must say, it’s changed a bit since I last set foot on the grounds.  It’s bigger than it used to be.  At least they’ve kept to the old architecture style, though.”

The Ulvari looked baffled.  “But if you’re the same Vurkanan Darshaw that founded the university, that would make you…”

"Very old," finished the sorcerer with a smirk.  "Please, let’s not do the math and leave it at that.  Counting the years depresses me."

Idrisar began to lower his weapon, but he remained visibly wary and suspicious.  “The Darshaw family has a long history.  This woman Aurora…is she lashran?”

"Of course," answered Vurkanan.  "In fact, she’s probably one of the first female lashran ever to be born on Wyndrah…if not the _very_ first.”

Agent Blackbird looked him up and down, his gaze piercing and shrewd.  “I need some proof that you are who you say you are.  It’s nothing personal, but I have a duty to protect my charge and until I know you aren’t consorting with the enemy, I can’t let you leave this room.  I can assure you that magic or no magic, you won’t easily get past my guard.”

"I’m all too aware of that," sighed Vurkanan.  "You’ll get the proof you seek if you contact the Rhuidhim sorcery guild.  They can send the identification proof you want directly to your guild director, over the secured connection, with my blessing.  As for proof of Aurora’s identity, I’m afraid you’ll have to speak with her directly to get that.  I’m not her keeper.  I can arrange a meeting between the two of you once we return to Valkyrie Falls, but I advise you not to piss her off."

 Idrisar immediately got out his phone and began making contacts to get the proof he needed, and Vurkanan had to admire his calm, professional demeanor.  Valamir would have approved, and he would have been comforted to know that the Ulvari-vash still survived in Avras, despite past efforts by Nandarian extremists to sabotage them and bring them down.   

* * *

 

Once Ammiteo confirmed it and sent the proof to Idrisar’s datapad, the agent thanked him and vowed to give him a full report upon his return home.  He finally relaxed once he saw the Rhuidian identification file that was sent to his superior and he put his gun away.  He watched Vurkanan with a touch of awe that he couldn’t completely disguise and he crossed his arms over his chest.  The sorcerer sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at him expectantly.

"Well?  Are you satisfied yet, or shall we call in your Agent Glaive to confirm it?  I prefer not to resort to such invasive measures, but it’s important that you and your people trust me, Agent Blackbird.  If you require further proof of my sincerity, I’ll allow him to deep scan me."

"That won’t be necessary," said Idrisar after some thought.  "But I would like to know why you’ve chosen to invest so much into this case?  They said you volunteered to come, and when you were introduced to everyone at the meeting, you showed particular interest in Agent Wolfe.  Why?  I know there’s a connection, but I haven’t figured out what it is."

 ”It’s simple, really.”  Vurkanan shrugged and leaned back on his elbows, letting his legs dangle over the side of the bed.  “Agent Wolfe is part of the Darshaw legacy, truth be told.  He’s a direct descendent of the same human family as Lythallendar.  He—and by ‘he’, I mean Lythallendar—was a hybrid.  He had a human mother and a lashran sire.  His mother’s family continued their bloodline, as people tend to do, and Haden is one of the results of that.  Aurora and I have been looking up descendents from both sides of the family over the past three decades, checking in on them when possible.  I had my suspicions concerning Agent Wolfe’s origins, and when I heard that he was Sandman’s next intended victim, I had to come.”

"So you’re here to protect the bloodline?"  Idrisar found it confusing.  "But, Haden isn’t actually related to you.  He isn’t lashran."

"But he’s related to Lythallendar," explained Vurkanan, "and there’s something particularly _interesting_ about the genetic makeup of that bloodline.  I don’t know if it’s due to some mutation in the human family as one of my nephews once suggested, or if they were just naturally different from others of their kind, but that little variation in their blood has played a hand in the evolution of our race—and quite possibly in the human race as well.  Agent Wolfe surviving that horrid augmentation process he went through is another example.  Other humans to survive the process shared some of his lineage.  Do you understand?”

Idrisar was no scientist, but he was a learned man.  “There’s a fundamental difference in the genetic material of people who descended from that family…a difference that allows mutations to…occur…” 

He trailed off, eyes widening.  Lythallendar Darshaw.  Now he remembered something more specific about that name, something that had the Nandar government in an uproar, a couple of millennia ago.  “Doombringer,” he whispered.  He looked at Vurkanan with dawning comprehension.  “That’s what they called him.  They were afraid of the changes he might bring to our race, and it seems their fears weren’t completely unfounded, if his bloodline is connected to the birth of female lashran and lishere.”

"Bear it in mind that these things would have eventually occurred on their own, in all probability," cautioned Vurkanan, "but Lythallendar’s genealogy gave the evolutionary process a boost—at least, that was how Landrin explained it to me.  Haden really does look like a more rugged version of what I picture Lythallendar to look like, were he born a human.  It was easy to see the family resemblance."

"Is this bloodline in danger of dying off?" pressed Idrisar as he tried to sort out all of the information he’d received.

"Oh no," assured Vurkanan.  "It’s too wide-spread for that, now.  I’m here strictly because I want to protect someone who bears a family relation to the man my brother loved more than life…not to mention, the father of my own dearly deceased mate.  It’s a personal family matter, to me.  Oh, and lunatics like the Sandman shouldn’t be running about slaughtering people willy-nilly, either."

Idrisar had no words.  His mind was swirling and he literally could think of nothing more to say on the matter.

"I can see by your expression of brow-knitting wonderment that you’re sufficiently baffled."  Vurkanan got off the bed and approached the agent, gently settling his hands over Idrisar’s shoulders.  "And you had such a poker face, before all this.  What will you _do_ with this information, Agent?  Despite the obvious Rhuidian ancestry in your blood, you were born and raised in Nandar, weren’t you?  Do you share your countrymen’s penchant for xenophobia, or can you accept the information I’ve given you, without allowing it to muddy your perception of Agent Wolfe?”

Idrisar found his tongue.  “One of the reasons I left Nandar was to escape the totalitarian society there, and to give my sons a chance to grow to men with more freedom than I had.  The bigotry there was part of what drove me away, and while I still struggle with indoctrinated prejudice, I’d like to think I’ve broken free of most of it.  Agent Wolfe is a good agent and a good man.  Even if I’m shocked by his lineage, I’ll never deliberately mistreat him for it.”

Vurkanan studied him as if reading a book, and then he nodded.  “I believe you.  Now, can I trust you to keep my identity between yourself and your director—at least for now?  I honestly don’t know what this Sandman knows about my family tree, if anything, but I came to you under an alias with good reason.  Tsyther seems like the sort that would go after people’s families, and protecting mine is precisely why I’m here with you right now.”

"You have my word," assured Idrisar.  "Your true identity stays between us, until you choose to reveal it yourself.  I hope you’ll at least consider telling Agent Wolfe.  I think he’s unsettled by your interest in him and if you explain it, he might feel more at ease."  

"I didn’t mean to _scare_ the lad,” sighed Vurkanan with a rueful smirk.  “It’s just so uncanny, how similar he is in looks to Lythas.  I’ll try to tone it down.  I think he has enough to worry about right now, without trying to sort out the tangle of his family tree.  Maybe when this is all over, I’ll sit down with him and explain everything.”

"That seems reasonable," agreed Idrisar.  He thought of Vurkanan’s observation concerning Sandman’s habit of going after loved ones, and he frowned.  "Please excuse me.  I need to make a couple of phone calls.  Agent Wolfe and the others are on the beach, if you’d like to join them.

* * *

 

-To be continued     


	15. Chapter 15

* * *

The weekend passed without incident and Haden and his companions returned to Valkyrie Falls.  Idrisar dutifully reported to Ammiteo—with Vurkanan at his side.  The sorcerer explained everything to the director and he promised to arrange a meeting with Aurora under _her_ terms.

"You’ll have to forgive her," explained Vurkanan, "You can take the pirate out of the sea, but you can’t take the sea out of the pirate.  I’m afraid my fair maiden is skittish about authority.  She’d either laugh in my face or shoot it off if I suggest she come into your headquarters to speak with you."

"Maybe she’ll get along best with Zevian," suggested Idrisar, only half-joking.

Vurkanan raised his brows.  “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.  Seeing that rogue working with your people might help convince her you can be trusted not to make her personal affairs your business.”

Ammiteo exchanged a glance with Idrisar and shrugged. “So long as she doesn’t break any laws while she’s here in Valkyrie Falls, we have no interest in her personal affairs.  We could speak with Zevian about this and ask him to accompany us, but it would mean explaining to him who you really are, Mr. Darshaw.  Are you prepared for that?”

Vurkanan thought it over and nodded.  “I think in the interest of stopping the madman trying to kill off Agent Wolfe, I can agree to that.”

"You _are_ aware that we’re talking about a Zarnian guild lord?” reminded Ammiteo cautiously.  He gave Idrisar an apologetic look as he continued to speak.  “I appreciate your trust in us, but do you feel secure in giving this information to Mr. Saber?  Agent Blackbird trusts him, but I think we should all remember that he’s in the mafia and he regularly has shady dealings.”

Vurkanan smirked a bit, his pale gaze flicking between the two Ulvari.  “Yes, Mr. Saber is a rogue and I’m fully aware of that.  So is my dear Aurora, and so was my brother and most of our family associates, I might add.  Believe it or not, Director, there truly _is_ such a thing as honor amongst thieves.  Some of the most noble-hearted people I’ve known in my life happen to be pirates, smugglers and renegades of some sort, in fact.”

"It wasn’t my intention to offend you," Ammiteo said sincerely.  "Frankly, I’m not used to dealing with people of this sort and I’m still learning to trust them.  As a man of the law, it can be…difficult…for me to see past my preconceived notions."

Vurkanan smiled.  “At least you’re humble enough to admit that.”

"Agreed," said Idrisar softly, sparing a proud little smile for the director.  "But learned perceptions can take time to break.  Little by little, we chip away at them and formulate our own opinions, outside the influence of what we’ve been told by others."

Vurkanan nodded, watching the other lifebearer with approval.  “Cooler heads prevail.  You’re a shining example of that, Agent Blackbird.  Well, shall we set up this meeting?”

 

* * *

 

When Vurkanan returned with the men he’d convinced her to meet, Aurora was mightily surprised to find that she recognized the sexy mobster.  Her jaw dropped as Zevian Saber walked into the hotel room behind everyone else and she got out of the dining chair to approach him, grinning broadly.

"Well hot damn!  Vurk only told me they had a mafia informant from Zarn…he didn’t _tell_ me it was one of the island lords.  How the hell are you, Saber?”

Zevian looked as pleasantly surprised to see her as she was to see him.  “Star?  Is that really you?”  He met her halfway and smiled, looking her slender form up and down.  She was wearing a pair of black tights, thigh-high boots, a red shirt with billowing sleeves and a lace-up corset-vest over top of it.

“‘Star’?” repeated Vurkanan with a frown of confusion, but the two of them went on as if he hadn’t spoken. 

"I wasn’t expecting you when they said we’d be meeting up with a lady pirate, either.  You look the part, love."  Zevian took one of her hands and turned it over to kiss the palm.  "You cut all of your hair off, though.  The last time I saw you, it was down to your waist."

"You look the same," she observed, smirking mischievously at him.  "Handsome devil.  So how many hopelessly smitten lifebearers have you got swooning over you now?"

"I couldn’t tell you," he answered.  "My attention is mostly focused on _one_ , these days.  You may remember my dancer Azurel from the last time we did business?”  When she nodded, he continued.  “Well, he’s gone and made a semi-honest man of me.”

She regarded him with mock suspicion.  “So much for your oath never to settle down again, eh?  He must be something special.”

"Indeed, he is."  Zevian grinned.  "So, what’s the story with you?  Has any man threatened to break your oath, yet?"

"I’m still on a strict diet of wenches," she assured with a wink.  "I’m still keeping _my_ vow.”

Vurkanan cleared his throat and raised his brows meaningfully at the two rogues, prompting them to stop their chatter and reminding them that they weren’t alone in the room.  “So, you two know each other,” stated the sorcerer with an accusatory look at Aurora.  “I wasn’t told of this.”

She shrugged.  “You never gave me a name, or you _would_ have been.  Even so, I don’t tell you absolutely _all_ of my business, Vurky-poo.”  Her blue-gray eyes went to the Ulvari operatives and she nodded at them.  “Aren’t you going to introduce us, or are you going to leave your friends standing there, looking uncomfortable?”

He turned and motioned at the big sire and his comely lifebearer companion.  “Aurora Darshaw, meet agents Ammiteo and Blackbird.  Ammiteo is the director of the VF branch of Ulvari-vash, and Blackbird is the top agent there.  These two are heading the Sandman case with Director Kent, head of the Order of the Wolf.  They’ve got Bargel associates also working on the case and as you know, Mr. Saber is assisting.”

"Hmph, that wasn’t a bit rehearsed," she muttered at the sorcerer, who shrugged.  She extended a deceptively slender hand for each of her guests to shake.  "Pleasure.  I’m sure my companion already told you I don’t cotton well to authoritative surroundings."

"He did," agreed Blackbird with a quiet little smile. 

Ammiteo’s handshake was gentle, suggesting the muscular sire was well-aware of his own strength and cautious with it.  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Miss Darshaw.”

"It’s ‘Mrs.’" She insisted.  "Men only go by ‘mister’, whether they’re attached or not.  There’s no reason women should have two separate titles, except to let men know when they’re ‘available’.  That’s _one_ sorry tradition I won’t be sad to watch die, eventually.”

"Er, begging your pardon," Ammiteo said uncertainly.  "I didn’t realize."

She shrugged.  “No harm done.  I just make it a point to correct people and enlighten them to the stupidity of it. Why don’t you lads have a seat, and I’ll pour us a round of drinks while we get started?”

"Thank you, but I never drink on the clock," Blackbird tried to decline.

Aurora looked at him, studying his sculpted face, his dark maroon, black-tipped hair and his pretty, pale blue eyes.  “Do you have an alcohol allergy?”

The agent shook his head.  “No.”

"Then let me explain something."  She went to the desk and opened the bottle of aged St. Thomas whisky sitting on it.  "Everybody drinks at my table, when they do business with me.  It calms the nerves and loosens tongues.  People are more honest.  If you’re too good to have a drink with me, we can’t work together.  It’s _my_ tradition, so unless you’re pregnant or allergic, drink up.”

Blackbird bit his lip and exchanged a look with his superior, who nodded encouragingly.  “I suppose I’m having a drink, then.”

 

* * *

 

"Cheers, gentlemen."  Aurora held her glass up and the men clinked theirs against it obligingly. 

"So, ‘Star’," Vurkanan said, giving the raven-haired beauty a hairy eyeball.  "What might be the story behind that moniker, hmm?"

"Nothing exciting," she insisted, taking a swallow of her drink.  "Aahh, good stuff.  Saber knows me as ‘Star’ because that’s my alias when I conduct…erm…delivery and transport. I’m not completely out of the business, you know."

"That was a fine selection of…puppies…you brought to me last time," Zevian said with a smirk, mindful of the two Ulvari agents in the room. "They made some dog enthusiasts very happy."

Aurora chuckled and leaned back in her chair, propping her booted ankles on the table casually. “Happy to do my part. Maybe when this all clears up, we can do business again and I can get my hands on more…puppies…for you.”

Idrisar raised a brow. “Should we be hearing this?”

"Relax," advised Zevian. "We’re just talking about giving stray puppies homes. Where’s the harm in that?"

"I think they’ve cracked your code," Vurkanan remarked dryly. "Perhaps the two of you can save the discussion of your business for another time, when you can speak freely. These fine agents are willing to overlook certain things about your respective careers, but we’re here to talk about the lunatic that’s threatening this city and Agent Wolfe."

"Thank you," Idrisar said to the sorcerer sincerely. He looked between Zevian and Aurora. "Could we please get on with the reason we’re here? We still need to fill in Mrs. Darshaw and exchange information with her."

"Fair enough," agreed Aurora. She leaned toward Vurkanan. "He’s all business, this one. Reminds me a little of my father."

"He isn’t as sweet-natured," remarked Vurkanan with a chuckle and a wink at Idrisar. "Well, Agent Blackbird? Would you and your director like to start the ball rolling, or shall I?"

 

* * *

 

Some thirty minutes later, everyone sat silently pensive around the table. Zevian was absently flicking a butterfly knife in his hand and Aurora regarded him with quiet surprise. 

"So, Sandman is your sire," she finally remarked, her porcelain features twisting with something like sympathy. "That’s a cruel twist."

Zevian sighed and shrugged, examining the blade of his knife for burs. “He didn’t contribute anything noteworthy to my upbringing, unless you count some combat skills and a penchant for being ruthless against people who do me wrong. I don’t have the emotional attachment to him that people with normal parent relationships enjoy. You needn’t fear divided loyalties from me on this.”

Aurora nodded. “I’m sure we don’t. I know you as a man of your word, Saber; despite what lawmen might think.” She smirked at the two Ulvari agents, and then her gaze went back to her now-empty glass. “I think another round of drinks is in order, after a debriefing like that. What say you, lads?”

A bit enchanted with her speech patterns—and the way Vurkanan spoke around her—Idrisar nodded.  He noticed that she didn’t _demand_ they drink this time, but he was loosened up enough by the first beverage to agree to a second one.

Aurora fetched the bottle of whiskey and refilled everyone’s glasses, before setting the bottle down in the center of the table and having a seat.  “Well, I’ve uncovered a few hints of his recent activity,” she informed them. “This could be hearsay, but one of my associates happens to be a ripper—don’t look at me like that, Vurk—and he informed me that Sandman still deals with them. He says our boy took an injury of some sort recently, and he’s had medical treatment.”

Ammiteo frowned. “What sort of injury?”

She shrugged and spread her hands. “Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that your suspect is rumored to be out of commission for now. At least that explains why he’s gone so quiet, lately.”

"Yes, it does." Idrisar considered the information carefully. "Do you believe your contact can be trusted?"

She snorted. “He’s a ripper. His credibility is only 50/50—but the information is still plausible. My sources can be a gamble sometimes, but this one has a wee crush on me. I’m betting his interest in getting down my pants gives him incentive to be a little more honest with me.”

Vurkanan rolled his eyes. “Lovely.”

"Hey, I’m just telling it like it is," defended Aurora. "I never said he was going to get what he wanted, did I?"

"I think it’s safe for us to assume Sandman is at least tied up in _something_ that’s keeping him too busy to make another move,” reasoned Idrisar, before an argument could break out. “The question is for how long?”

"Our efforts to track his present location haven’t succeeded yet," Ammiteo added, rubbing his chin absently. "He’s deep in hiding and he’s being very careful with his activities. Aside from one witness from a companion service, we’ve seen nothing from him since he broke into Agent Wolfe’s apartment."

"You’ll hear or see something of him again soon, no doubt," guessed Aurora. "He sounds like he’s obsessed and I don’t think he’ll pack up his toys and leave until he’s taken another shot at your agent. My advice is to keep the lad under tight watch and don’t slack off. There’s nothing else to be done but to keep looking for Sandman and wait for him to make a move."

Idrisar and Ammiteo both nodded. “Agreed,” said the director. “Thank you for your cooperation in this, Mrs. Darshaw.”

"Meh. Call me Aurora—or Star, if we’re around other people. I think you’ve earned the right."

 

* * *

 

After Zevian and the agents left to return to headquarters, Vurkanan stood looking out the window at the ominous clouds coming in from the sea.  “There’s going to be a storm,” he predicted. 

"You can cuddle under the covers with me," offered Aurora, approaching him to give him a fond hug from behind. "I know you hate thunder. You’ve never gotten over it."

Vurkanan sighed. “Lyre used to comfort me when the bad ones struck.” He laid a hand over the pale, slender ones resting on his stomach. “I’m glad you agreed to come, Aurora.”

She gave him a little squeeze. “I have a hard time saying ‘no’ to my brother in law. Besides, I had nothing else going on. I’m glad you talked me out of hibernating again.”

"I never should have taught you that trick to begin with," answered the sorcerer with a frown, "but after Lyre took that knife injury that killed him, I didn’t want to _be_ here. I didn’t want to sleep alone, either.”

She lowered her gaze pensively and absently stroked his velvet shirt, heaving a sigh. “That was the hardest death to take, I think. Rhys spoiled me for any other man and then my sweet, gentle brother goes and gets killed trying to break up a fight. I think if Daddy had still been alive, Lyre’s death would have killed him.”

"Lythallendar always said he prayed he would never live to see any of his children go before him," murmured Vurkanan. "At least we can be thankful that he got his wish. Tsab too."

"I’m still not entirely convinced they’re gone," insisted Aurora. "We never found evidence, Vurk."

"We found the remains of the ship," reminded Vurkanan. "As well as the crew."

"But we never found _their_ remains,” she argued.

Vurkanan turned around to face her, frowning. “I would love nothing more than to be proven wrong, but just because we never found Tsab or Lythas’ bodies doesn’t mean they survived that storm.  It’s been over three-hundred years, Wildcat.  I’m sure they would have contacted one or both of us by now, if they had survived.  They were lost at sea, and that’s the end of it.  Let it go.  I can’t keep arguing this with you.”

Seeing the warning sparkle of unshed tears in his eyes, she didn’t press the matter further and she left his side to retrieve her whiskey.  They had lost so much over the long years and most of the descendants of their family these days had no idea who they were.  Not everyone from the old days and the early generations of the family tree was gone, but time and distance had a way of making people lose touch.

"It’s a shame Saber’s taken," she mused after having a swallow of liquor. She glanced at her silver-haired companion and smirked. "I was considering him as a potential companion for you—or at least a good ‘fuck buddy’, as they call them. He wasn’t interested in a relationship the last time I spoke with him and you could use a good lay."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I would have passed," answered Vurkanan.

"I’m not saying you should bond in Vashekna with anyone," she amended, "but you still have your needs, Vurk."

"It isn’t about denying my needs," insisted Vurkanan.

"Oh?" She raised a brow and swirled the amber liquid in her glass, making the ice cubes clink together. "Then what _is_ it about?”

Vurkanan looked out the window again, watching the lightening dance in the distant clouds. “Zevian Saber is surely a handsome, charming rogue. Still, he does nothing for me.”

Aurora’s brow knitted with concern. “Everything’s working downstairs, isn’t it?”

Vurkanan blurted a laugh and nodded. “Worry not, everything is still functioning properly. I didn’t mean I’m _incapable_ of feeling anything; I just meant that Mr. Saber himself does nothing for me.  I’m not attracted to him.”

"Really?" She didn’t try to hide her surprise. "I think you’re the first lifebearer I’ve met that could say that with a straight face, Vurk."

He shrugged. “He reminds me of my brother, and that sufficiently smothers any attraction I could have harbored for the man. Besides, you should have known better. It’s the saints I go for, not the sinners.”

"Right," she sighed. "Stupid of me, aye? You never went in for the bad boys. Well, as long as I know you’re not torturing yourself on purpose."

"I’ve never been known to deprive myself of the pleasures in life when I feel it’s warranted to partake in them," reminded Vurkanan with a smirk.  He sighed and traced a pattern over the glass of the window. "But for now, I don’t need romantic company."

Aurora shrugged. “You know best.”      

 

* * *

 

Haden wasn’t particularly happy about resuming his cautionary lock-up, but he understood the importance of keeping their guard up.  What troubled him more than the thought of the dangerous spirit singer catching him in a vulnerable moment was the thought of how it would affect Glaive if he succeeded.  True to his nature, Haden was more concerned for his partner’s emotional well being than his own physical safety.  Glaive didn’t show it in public and he was prone to flirting, but he’d made it clear to Haden how deep his feelings for him truly ran.  Knowing how guarded his partner was with his feelings, Haden felt truly blessed and he made sure Glaive knew his affection was reciprocated, every chance he got.

Others weren’t having such an easy time with their relationships.  Vandrin’s behavior had begun to improve, but over the weekend it drastically went downhill again and he began making openly objectifying and downright derisive remarks about lifebearers.  Ammiteo cornered him on his way out of the gym and demanded to know what his problem was.  It was then that he discovered that Vandrin’s mate was leaving him and filing for a separation.  Full custody of their teenaged son would likely be awarded to the lifebearer—which was probably for the best, since Vandrin was only there for the snapshot moments anyway.

Ammiteo took pity on him and gave him one final warning, when he should have suspended him from duty.  He realized his mistake when he discovered that his warning wasn’t heeded—either because Vandrin simply resented lifebearers too much to care or wasn’t possessed of a strong enough sense of self-preservation to take him seriously. The second day after Idrisar returned with Wolfe and the others, it came to a boil.

 

* * *

 

Idrisar had just finished showering after his daily limbering and workout routine, when he found himself face to face with Vandrin… _literally_.  He nearly ran into him, in fact.  He stopped towel-drying his hair and he draped the object around his shoulders to look up at the sire through damp bangs, barely concealing his annoyance.  He’d seen him swerve into his path just before his towel temporarily blocked his view, deliberately making an obstacle of himself.

"What do you want, Agent Vandrin?"  Idrisar kept his voice deliberately cool and aloof, hiding the irritation he felt.

Vandrin looked him up and down slowly, his violet eyes—so much like Ammiteo’s—caressing the lifebearer’s shirtless upper body.  “I’m about to be single again,” he said with a smirk, his voice slightly raw as if he’d spent some time yelling recently.  “In that light, I thought you might want to go out sometime.”

Idrisar’s right brow lifted slightly.  “Are you propositioning me while on the clock, Agent?”

"I’m on my lunch break now," answered the sire with a smirk.  "And it isn’t like I’m your superior, like my cousin.  I’m just asking you out for a nice diner or something, sometime.  What’s the harm in that?"

"Putting aside the fact that we work together," Idrisar answered carefully, "this…situation of yours is clearly affecting your judgment.  I think you should concentrate on dealing with whatever is happening at home, before you start asking every lifebearer you see out on dates."

"I’m not asking every lifebearer I see," countered Vandrin.  "I’m asking _you_.”  He put his hands against the wall on either side of Idrisar’s head, boxing him in.

A couple of people passing through paused, but Idrisar gave them each a look that assured them he had it under control.  He kept his calm, sensing that Vandrin was trying to snatch back some power that he felt had been taken from him.

"And I must unfortunately decline your offer," said the lifebearer as politely as he could manage.  There was pain beneath the fool’s actions and he was Ammiteo’s cousin, after all.  "You need to deal with your issue, as I said.  This isn’t going to help you."

Vandrin rolled his eyes and leaned in closer.  “I’ve seen the way you look at my cousin,” he murmured, speaking low for Idrisar’s ears alone.  “I’m not as beefed up as he is, but people say we look alike.  Come on…I know you’ve been alone for a long time, and I know lifebearers have their needs, too.”

Idrisar finally began to lose patience.  “I can’t go out with you, Vandrin.  Whether I have ‘needs’ or not, there’s still the issue of me just not _liking_ you very much.  As for how I allegedly ‘look at’ Director Ammiteo, I respect the man as my superior and for what he’s done to shape up this department.  While we’re on that subject, don’t ever compare yourself to the director again.  Superficial resemblance in coloring and features is where your similarity to him ends.  Have I made myself clear?”

Vandrin’s eyes brightened with anger.  “You’re just like the rest of them.  You think you’re above sires because there’s a shortage of you lifebearers.  You think you can jerk us around and we’ll just take the abuse because you can give birth. Well, you’re wrong about that.” 

He leaned in closer, ignoring the dangerous warning in Idrisar’s eyes.  He took a slow, deep breath as if inhaling the lifebearer’s scent, and he did a very good job of invading his personal space without actually touching him.  “One of these days, someone’s going to put you in your place.  I just hope I’m around to see it, baby.”

Idrisar would have responded, but he could see Ammiteo over the looming sire’s shoulder, standing there with a grim expression on his chiseled face and glowing purple eyes.  The director had come up behind his cousin while they were absorbed in their altercation and neither of them had heard him.  While Agent Blackbird certainly didn’t need assistance fighting his own battles, he was uncommonly glad to see the director.  He didn’t want to be the cause of strife between the two cousins but now that Ammiteo saw and heard what was going on with his own eyes and ears, it was no longer Vandrin’s word against his. 

"I think you should back off," warned Idrisar softly, looking at Vandrin again.

Vandrin grinned in a predatory manner.  “You going to kick my ass, sweet thing?”

Idrisar couldn’t resist a little smirk.  “If you keep going, I may not have to.”  His gaze went to Ammiteo again and for the first time, Vandrin seemed to sense the bigger sire behind him. 

Vandrin turned and looked at his cousin with an expression of mixed surprise and dread on his face.  “D-Director,” he stammered, wisely stepping away from Idrisar.  “I was just—”

"Vandrin, you are dismissed."  Ammiteo spoke in a low, dangerous tone and people paused on their way past the showers entrance to watch the scene. 

"Of course," said the offending agent, mistaking his meaning.  "I’ll just get back to work now."

"No."  Ammiteo shook his head and the muscle along his jaw clenched visibly.  "I mean you’re fired, Vandrin.  This is a burn notice, and the only thing you need to be doing now is clearing out your desk and leaving the premises.  Effective _immediately_.”

"You can’t be serious!"  Vandrin’s eyes were wide with disbelief.  "Just because of some banter between agents?  That fucking lishere has done a _lot_ worse and you’ve kept _him_ on!”

"I’ve given you every chance in the world to straighten up and change your attitude," Ammiteo responded, still keeping his voice low.  "Now I see that effort is wasted.  Sexual harassment won’t be tolerated in this department, nor will threatening insinuations.  I’ve heard enough and it’s time to let you go.  Get your things and get out of here in ten minutes, or I’ll have security _throw_ you out.”

"You can’t just give me a burn notice without…well, _notice_ ,” objected Vandrin.  He shot a glare at Idrisar.  “This guy’s got you whipped, Cousin!  I—”

Ammiteo suddenly lunged at the smaller sire as Vandrin made a gesture at Idrisar.  The agent found himself slammed hard against the wall and pinned there by the throat, with one of Ammiteo’s powerful forearms pressing against his windpipe. 

"Don’t make me repeat myself, Vandrin," warned Ammiteo in a growl.  "After the threat I heard you issue to Agent Blackbird, you’re lucky I don’t have you detained and fined." 

Idrisar tensed; suddenly worried that Vandrin really _did_ push Ammiteo too far.  He was more concerned with the director getting charged with assault than he was for Vandrin’s safety, and he almost tried to intervene.  Fortunately, the big sire kept his temper in check and he released his cousin after staring him down for a moment.

"I’ll have your paperwork done by this afternoon," Ammiteo said, watching as his cousin staggered and righted himself, rubbing his throat.  "Now, get out of my sight."

 

* * *

 

 A little while later, Idrisar was in Ammiteo’s office with him. He watched as the powerful sire paced back in agitation before the big window overlooking the city. Finally, Ammiteo stopped and regarded him with troubled purple eyes. 

"I’m sorry you had to witness that, Agent Blackbird. I’m even more sorry it had to come to such a blatant display of disrespect for you before I acted."

Idrisar shook his head. “I’m sorry you had to resort to that, but please don’t apologize for his behavior. You weren’t to blame for it, sir.”

"But I _was_ ,” corrected Ammiteo unhappily. “I knew he was acting inappropriately, especially toward you. I had hoped he would straighten up, and I foolishly took your insistence that you could handle it to mean it wasn’t as bad as I suspected. Now I know how wrong I was, and I know other lifebearers aren’t as stoic as you are about that sort of foolishness.”

"May I say something off the record?" requested Idrisar after a moment’s thought. "You won’t like it, but I think you need to hear it."

Ammiteo nodded, visibly tensing. “You know I value your opinion, Idrisar. What is it?”

The lifebearer lowered his eyes and scraped his teeth over his bottom lip before answering. “Your cousin craves power. He isn’t getting it at home and he isn’t getting it here. He prescribes to the notion that lifebearers—and probably women—are meant to make things more convenient for sires and men. He lashes out to make himself feel superior, because he knows most of us lifebearers are brought up to tolerate it and won’t put him on his ass, as he well deserves. In short, Ammiteo, your cousin is a standard bully and a sexist.”

The director huffed with reluctant amusement. “I see that, now. It’s embarrassing that it took me this long to see what has probably been obvious to you for so long.”

Idrisar approached him and reached up to place his hands on the broad shoulders, gazing into the director’s eyes. “You were seeing him through the eyes of a man trying to do right by his family, and there’s no shame in that. There _is_ a bright side to this, you know.”

Ammiteo slowly placed his hands over Idrisar’s waist, looking intrigued and comforted by his words. “And what’s that?”

"This could be the wake-up call he needs to get his act together," answered the lifebearer. "Vandrin is a fool, but I don’t think he’s a _bad_ person at the core. He’s capable of reason and maybe after this, he’ll start to evaluate his life and begin to see that he’s the problem, not everyone else.”

"That’s a big ‘maybe’," sighed Ammiteo, rubbing Idrisar’s sides gently. "Vandrin has always been bull-headed."

"Which leads me to the most unpleasant observation," sighed Idrisar. He frowned, knowing how this part would trouble Ammiteo. "We haven’t been able to find evidence that any of the operatives we’ve investigated have anything to do with Sandman. I think it’s time for us to consider that if there’s an informant in the ranks, it could be someone we don’t want to investigate."

Ammiteo frowned at him, slowing the motions of his hands. “What are you suggesting?”

Idrisar shut his eyes, hating the need to even utter what he was about to say. “I think you should consider the possibility that your cousin could be the informant. His resentment and disdain for Agent Glaive has been apparent from the beginning, and he has a motive for sabotaging your work to make you look bad to the head branch. Even if I’m wrong about that, you remember what both Glaive and Saber have said about Sandman, don’t you? He’s good at ferreting out the resentful, the downtrodden and the rejected. If he wants inside information on this department—especially pertaining to this manhunt—who better to seek out than someone who was assigned to this case? He could even try to force the information from him, if he can’t persuade him to give it willingly.”

Ammiteo swore softly under his breath and bowed his head. “You’re right. He knows too much.”

Idrisar sighed regretfully, but he relaxed with the knowledge that his companion evidently didn’t hold his observations against him.  He dared to reach up and comb his fingers through the sire’s pale, spiked hair.  “I’m so sorry, Ammiteo. This is such a cruel thing to ask you to do and I understand family loyalty. Consider me your instrument, in this. I’ll undergo the task of having him watched, so that you don’t have to.”

The sire raised his head and gazed into his eyes.  He kept one hand on Idrisar’s waist and he lifted the other to trace his features with his fingertips. “You’ve already taken on more than your share.”

"So I’ll off-load some of my work onto you and Agent Glaive," insisted Blackbird. "This is a burden you should _not_ have to bear, Ammiteo.”

He followed Ammiteo’s example and traced his jaw and lips with his fingertips. The sire didn’t flinch away from his touch, even though the fingers were sheathed in the cool metal of the Mokalor.  It took a lot of trust for a man to stand there and allow a caress from a hand adorned in such a weapon, knowing that the claws could come out of the sheaths at any moment and slice his skin to ribbons. Ammiteo demonstrated his unwavering trust further by turning his head slightly and kissing the sheathed fingertips, unconcerned with the potential peril of doing so.

"I wish I had a gift for words," murmured Ammiteo in his deep, thoughtful voice. He gazed into Idrisar’s eyes as he spoke and his tone was full of admiration. "Telling you I’m grateful doesn’t seem like enough."

Idrisar was touched by his actions and verbal efforts. “You don’t need to reward me. I _want_ to do this, for you _and_ for the department. I even want to do it for your cousin’s sake, though I’d almost rather throttle him for fun.”

Ammiteo chuckled. “You wouldn’t be alone in that.  I think there would be a line, in fact.”

"We could charge admission, then," teased Idrisar with a dimpled smile. "Some people might pay for the chance to throttle him."

Ammiteo looked slightly stricken, suddenly. Before Idrisar could wonder if he’d gone too far with his jesting, the sire blurted a comment that took him completely by surprise. “You have got the cutest damned smile I’ve ever seen.”

Much to his consternation, Idrisar blushed—not just a little, but a _lot_. Zevian had evoked a similar response with some of his actions before, but never this strongly. The lifebearer agent became uncommonly flustered as his whole face flooded with heat, and he could no longer meet Ammiteo’s eyes.

"Oh, I…thank you.  Excuse me, I don’t know what’s gotten into me all the sudden." His embarrassment for his boyish reaction only compounded the problem and made him blush deeper. He tried to pull away, his confidence crippled by his uncontrolled reactions.

Ammiteo didn’t release him. “Are you blushing?” He began to smile again, his chiseled features relaxing with adoration and amusement.

"Of course not," scoffed the lifebearer uselessly. "I’m too old to blush. Dammit."

Ammiteo chuckled again. “Your face evidently disagrees with you. Idrisar, we’re off the record. Please forgive me, but I can’t resist.” Now _he_ was the confident one and he lowered his mouth to the lifebearer’s and stole a kiss.

Idrisar reckoned he should put a stop to it, but like every other time before, his willpower failed him. Ammiteo was right, after all. They _were_ off the record and they were alone in the office. Idrisar had already told him he wouldn’t mind the occasional kiss now and then, until they could explore their attraction further without jeopardizing the case. Unable to resist the feel of the sire’s firm lips moving against his, Idrisar slid his fingers through Ammiteo’s hair and kissed him back.

All of the stress and frustration finally got to them both. What was obviously intended as a brief expression of romantic affection and gratitude became a searing, desperate kiss. Their tongues stroked and pressed against each other and husky purrs arose in both lashran throats. Ammiteo thrust his tongue into Idrisar’s mouth demandingly and one of his hands slid down the lifebearer’s back to cup his bottom. Idrisar curled his metal-sheathed fingers into the sire’s hair, clutching the spiked locks with uncharacteristic aggression. He caressed Ammiteo’s tongue with his own, demonstrating his approval with the way he was using it. His breath caught when he felt the bulge in the sire’s cargo pants pressing against his lower abdomen and he squirmed a little, causing friction between their bodies. 

Ammiteo didn’t utter his name or gasp a word of warning; he simply lifted him and kept ravishing his mouth.  Idrisar felt the hard surface of the other man’s desk under him as Ammiteo lowered him again and he heard something crash to the floor as the sire made a sweeping motion with his arm. In the back of his mind, it occurred to him that the director probably just broke his laptop, but when Ammiteo’s hips ground between his thighs, Idrisar’s concern for the piece of equipment went out the window with what remained of his common sense. He felt the muscles of the sire’s chest flex and bulge beneath his right hand as he stroked the surface of it over the tight crew shirt he wore, and Idrisar suffered a burning need to get the garment out of the way.

"Mmph," mumbled Ammiteo into the agent’s mouth as Idrisar let one of his claws out and hooked it into the collar of the crew shirt.  He dragged it down and there was a soft rending sound as he cut open Ammiteo’s shirt from throat to navel. 

Idrisar retracted the claw and he immediately started to stroke his unadorned hand over the sire’s powerful chest and torso. Ammiteo got over his surprise at the bold action, overpowered by the same lust that drove Idrisar to distraction. He undulated against the lifebearer suggestively and tore his mouth away from his to worship his throat.  His hands busily slipped beneath the muscle shirt Idrisar had slipped on before heading into the office and he reciprocated his touches, familiarizing himself with the smaller man’s body.

"We should…probably stop," gasped Idrisar, even as he arched his neck for more and slid one hand around to splay it over Ammiteo’s broad back.  He tweaked one of the sire’s nipples and he got a soft groan of approval from him that made his groin throb in his pants.

"Okay,’ agreed Ammiteo—but he kept kissing him and his damp mouth made a hot trail down to Idrisar’s collarbone.  His big hand stroked the lifebearer’s stomach before cupping his straining crotch to gently fondle it through the track pants he wore.

"Forests, I want you," Idrisar admitted in a shaken voice, bucking into the sire’s touch. "But…we can’t do this here. We…we both agreed to wait."

"I know," murmured the sire huskily.  He tugged Idrisar’s shirt up with strong teeth, exposing his abdomen and most of his chest.  He followed up his statement by nuzzling Idrisar’s toned abs with his lips, skimming them dangerously close to the drawstring waistline. 

Idrisar stroked the bigger man’s hair with his left hand and he moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. Why wasn’t he _stopping_ this? For that matter, why wasn’t Ammiteo? They both clearly knew it couldn’t happen, yet there they were, letting it go on. As if by its own volition, Idrisar’s right hand began to work at unfastening Ammiteo’s pants. His breath hitched with desire as his palm rubbed against the prominent bulge in the sire’s crotch and he recalled what it was like to have a sire’s hard, rigid heat pumping inside of him.

The office speaker was ultimately what kept them from copulating right there on Ammiteo’s desk. From the floor where it landed with Ammiteo’s computer, the speaker beeped loudly and startled both men out of their passionate haze.

"Director Ammiteo," Ceindar’s voice said through the speaker, "there’s a phone call for you on line three. It’s from the director of the Rhuidhim branch and it’s about Agent Vandrin. He wants to know what’s going on."

Ammiteo froze and lifted his head from Idrisar’s stomach. The lifebearer likewise went still, looking down at his companion with a guilt-ridden expression. Neither of them moved, torn between the nagging desire to satisfy the need they mutually felt for one another and the desire to play it safe and wait.

"Director, are you there?" Ceindar’s voice sounded worried.

"Vandrin must have called and lodged a complaint against my decision," Ammiteo said breathlessly, straightening back up with reluctance. "I had better straighten this out."

He offered a hand to Idrisar and when the lifebearer took it, he helped him sit up. He stared at him regretfully, his eyes lit from within by the glow of lust. “Idrisar, I didn’t mean to attack you like that. This isn’t how I want our first time to be, if and when we take it to the next level.”

Idrisar smirked ruefully and sighed, running his hands over the sire’s powerful chest and shoulders one last time. “No, it’s not how I want our first time to be, either. I’m just as much to blame as you are.” He struggled not to grin at the sight of the damage he did to the man’s shirt, and he cleared his throat. He usually preferred to take his time with lovemaking, favoring slow exploration over hurried desperation. “I didn’t mean to get that aggressive. Do you think perhaps we can both blame prolonged frustration for our behavior and try to forgive each other?”

Ammiteo nodded somberly. “I think that’s a good idea.”

“ _Director Ammiteo,_ " called Ceindar insistently over the speaker, " _If you are in your office, please answer!_ ”

Ammiteo’s mobile phone started to go off—probably because his secretary was now trying to reach him through it while simultaneously attempting to get him to answer the speaker.

Idrisar hopped off the desk and he winced when he saw the laptop lying on the floor. He straightened his clothes and covertly shifted his package, doing his best to conceal his condition. “I should probably go,” he murmured, resisting looking directly at the sire for fear that his libido might get the better of him again. “You can take the cost of the shirt out of my pay.” He blushed again, mortified that he’d behaved that way.

Ammiteo looked down at his bared chest and the shirt that was sliced open. He shook his head gave the lifebearer a smile that Idrisar could just make out from the corner of his eye. “No, that won’t be necessary. I think I’ll keep this shirt, actually.  Not to wear, but as a reminder of what I can look forward to if I’m patient enough to wait.”

"You’ll have much more than ripped shirts to look forward to," promised Idrisar, his mouth running away with him yet _again_ in a bout of spontaneity.

He compressed his lips to stop any further lascivious comments and he wanted to kick himself. While Ammiteo grinned with intrigue and surprise, the lifebearer gave him a curt little nod and a bow, trying his best to maintain his dignity. 

"I believe I’ll go and work out some more," Idrisar ground out. "Have a pleasant day, Director."

He made his exit, somehow avoiding doing so too hastily. Idrisar slowed his breathing as he shut the office door behind him and he took a moment to gather his wits and calm his body before continuing down the hallway. A quick meditation got his erection issue back under control—at least to where it wasn’t so obvious. Both of them had acted inappropriately in that office, and he knew the stress of the case and the incident with Vandrin was only partly to blame for it.

Even the most disciplined of lashran could fall prey to prolonged deprivation of sexual gratification, and to Idrisar’s distress, he was no exception to that rule. 

 

* * *

 

 -To be continued 


	16. Chapter 16

* * *

As agreed, Idrisar and Ammiteo eventually got over their little indiscretion in the office.  They were both professionals and the encounter was actually refreshing for both of them, inappropriate though it may have been.  Now there was no longer any question of where their relationship would take them, when they could pursue it without distracting from the case.  Knowing this, they felt more confident—not just around one another, but at work, too.  Idrisar dyed his hair black again, more comfortable with it being all one uniform color.  Their efforts resumed with tireless dedication, though they sometimes met up outside of work to shoot pool or go on platonic dates to ease stress.  

Vurkanan set up all sorts of magical wards and alarms throughout the headquarter building, as did Glaive.  Between the arcane and ethereal defenses they added to the electronic ones, the facility was a virtual fortress.  To Haden, it was more of a prison but the directors arranged secret getaways for him and his partner on the weekends, to help alleviate the feeling of being trapped.  Vurkanan aided with this, informing them that there was no need for them to spend company money on transportation every weekend.  As long as they made the accommodation arrangements, he was willing to teleport Haden and his party to the different locations and back again each weekend.

Ammiteo cleared everything with his superiors in Rhuidhim concerning the burn notice of Vandrin.  They were already aware of past difficulties with the agent from previous reports filed, and they agreed with Ammiteo’s decision to can him.  They even questioned why he didn’t move to do it sooner, despite his blood relation.  He had no real excuse for that and he took the blame for it graciously, promising not to allow his personal feelings to interfere with his job again.  Unfortunately, such a promise meant he really might have to put in for a transfer when he and Idrisar decided it was time to move their relationship to the next level, but as he’d vowed to the lifebearer before when they discussed it, Ammiteo believed it was worth it.

Vandrin kept the house he’d shared with his mate and son.  They moved to the next county, to a small town called Shady Dale, just north of Valkyrie Falls.  Now living on pension until he could find work again, Vandrin was left to consider his life and decide what to do next, for better or for worse.  Embittered and feeling betrayed, it was unlikely that his choice would lead to betterment, but those who cared for him the most refused to help him, this time.  He had to figure it out on his own, and he had no idea that his mate cried himself to sleep every night over him.  He was aware that someone was keeping an eye on him, but he didn’t know it was the very agent he’d harassed.

Another two months passed without any leeway in the case, and Zevian’s condition began to intensify.  His senses and power grew, but so did the frequency of his encounters with the spirits.  He was very good at hiding his troubles at first.  Not even his lover suspected anything was wrong, until it progressed from faint whispers to visions again.  Urahis’ protection was evidently failing and Zevian could only accomplish so much using sheer willpower, without proper training.

One day during a casework meeting, it became apparent to a few people that something was wrong with him.

* * *

 

"We’ve had three alleged sightings this month," Kent said, pointing at the altered image of Tsyther on the big screen behind him.  "One in a recruitment center just outside town, one at the racetrack and one in a tattoo parlor.  Unfortunately, we can’t confirm any of these sightings to be legit.  The reward we’re offering for information leading to the capture of the fugitive could make people greedy, and there’s also the fact that Sandman likes to tinker with folks’ memories."

"What sort of military recruitment center was it?" Glaive asked. 

Kent grimaced.  “Ulvari introductory training.”

"It’s Valkyrie Falls’ prep grounds for aspiring Ulvari agents," explained Ammiteo.  "Those who make it through the initial training and tests with high enough marks are approved to move on to the next rank, where they are trained further and tested again. If they make the cut, they are moved to the final academy in Rhuidhim to complete their training and be tested once more.  On average, less than a fourth of applicants make it all the way through to graduate and become an official operative of the Ulvari-vash."

"It’s highly likely _that_ particular sighting was legitimate,” Glaive reasoned.  “I can easily imagine Tsyther scouting there for young rejects, to mold them into his protégés.”

"Is he trying to build an army?" mused Lunvas with a frown.  Without Vandrin’s influence, he was returning to a more professional attitude and he was almost back to his old, thoughtful self now.

"That’s an extreme way to put it," Zevian answered, thinking back on the way his sire tended to process logic.  "He’s not trying to be a cult leader, because it’s too high profile.  He’s trying to nudge other people in that direction and steer the rules his way."

Glaive nodded in agreement.  “He trains, he manipulates and he releases—sometimes through death, if his ‘students’ disappoint him.  Like most charismatic sociopaths, he has a way of milking fanatical devotion from the right kind of people, and he knows where to look to find them.  He would never keep more than a handful working near him, though.  As I’ve warned before, Tsyther spreads his influence far and wide, and he gets rid of anyone he feels could possibly betray him.”

"His radar must be off," observed Lily with a nod at Glaive.  " _You’re_ still here and you betrayed him good and proper.”

"Yes, I’m still here," chuckled Glaive, "because I was more careful than others before me.  Turning against him wasn’t easy.  Ask any former cult member or even a domestic abuse survivor; people like Tsyther are adept at indoctrinating people into their control."

"Then if he’s searching for fresh blood," reasoned Idrisar, "it must mean he’s dismissed other assistants, one way or the other."

Ammiteo gave Idrisar a questioning look and the lifebearer shook his head.  “There hasn’t been any evidence of him attempting to contact any of our people; on or _off_ the payroll.”

The Ulvari director relaxed.

"This is all fascinating," Zevian said, "but does it really _get_ us anywhere?”  He looked around and he thought he saw Vurkanan Darshaw nod subtly in agreement with his statement. 

At the podium next to Ammiteo’s, Idrisar frowned.  “Getting inside the target’s head is part of any successful mission, Mr. Saber.  I know it’s frustrating and we may seem to be getting nowhere, but we’ve actually made decent progress with what we have to go by.  Some criminals can evade the law for years, and many cases go unsolved for much longer than this.”

Ammiteo nodded in agreement.  “When dealing with a situation as slippery as this, the best results come from persistence, patience and cooperation.  Above all, we have to keep our senses sharp and our guard up.”

Zevian sighed.  Perhaps he was being too impatient with this.  The criminal mind was often a tricky one; he should know.  His old man had the skills and the wit to evade these people indefinitely, if he truly wanted to.  The only thing keeping Tsyther here at the risk of capture was his own obsessive need for revenge.  He looked back up at Idrisar and he froze. 

Obane was back.  The phantom mafia lord was standing beside Idrisar at the podium, watching the lifebearer with unwholesome interest as he and the directors discussed something quietly between themselves.  Obane looked back at Zevian with black, malevolent eyes and he gave him a shark’s smile.

“ _Like this one, do you? As much as you like that pretty dancer of yours too, I’ll bet.  He’s fetching.”_

Obane’s ghostly hand reached out as if to pet the oblivious agent. “ _Ah, the things I could do to this one._ ”

"Stay the hell away from him."

He uttered the warning loud enough for everyone to stop and stare at him.

"Pardon me?" Idrisar asked, watching Zevian with a quizzical look.

"I…was reminding your agents not to try and take on Tsyther alone," explained Zevian, thinking quickly.  He slipped back into a stronger Zarnian accent and lapsed into slang he normally avoided using because he found it unsophisticated.  "Sorry if I didn’t make it clear enough for these cats."

Blackbird’s puzzled look faded, but there was faint concern in his pale gaze and he didn’t immediately look away.  “I’m sure everyone remembers the rule about engaging the suspect without backup, Mr. Saber.  Thank you for the reminder, nonetheless.”

Zevian nodded tersely and he tried to ignore the ghost hovering around Idrisar.  He had to remember that Obane’s threats were hollow.  If he could harm the living, he would have done so long before now.  He was all bluster, just trying to scare him.  As in life, the man knew that the best way to do that was through the people Zevian cared about.

* * *

 

It got progressively worse, and though he only appeared for brief moments, Obane was doing his best to haunt Zevian.  The guild lord questioned why his rival seemed to be the only ghost to manifest visually to him besides Urahis, but he stubbornly procrastinated going to Glaive for assistance and answers.  Urahis didn’t make another appearance and his voice was strangely silent.  It worried Zevian, though logically he knew nothing could hurt his lost love any more. 

The spirit voices were getting so loud that they drowned out his thoughts, and he couldn’t make sense of them.  It was like being in a crowded restaurant and trying to pick out a single conversation amongst many.  Saber was a man accustomed to doing things on his own.In his determination to delay what was bound to be an awkward and confusing discussion with the Ulvari agent, Zevian suffered.  Therril and Johnny noticed that something was wrong with their boss, but they presumed it was just frustration with the case and they didn’t question him.  Vurkanan and Idrisar both said something about it, encouraging him to speak up if something was wrong.  He assured them it was nothing, even as his skull felt as though it wanted to split in two and maintaining coherent thought was a struggle.

Azurel was the one to finally break him.  The entertainer had too much respect for Zevian to argue with him when he first asked if everything was all right, but when it became clear that his handsome rogue was heading for a breakdown, he decided enough was enough and he intervened one morning.

* * *

 

Zevian winced when the blinds were pulled up to flood the room with morning light.  “Shut those,” he demanded, covering his eyes with his forearm.

"No," answered Azurel defiantly. 

Zevian frowned and squinted at the lifebearer’s graceful, lithe silhouette, backlit by the dawn’s light through the window.  “What the hell is your problem this morning?”

"You," answered Azurel, putting his hands on his hips.  " _You’re_ my problem, Zev.  For over two weeks now, you’ve been steadily drinking more each night and it’s to a point now where you do it until you pass out.  Something’s obviously up with you and I don’t think it’s just stress from this Sandman shit.”

Azurel crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning over the suffering guild lord.  His expression softened and his lovely ruby gaze gentled as he stroked Zevian’s gold-streaked hair.  His voice was gentle and slightly desperate with concern.  “Please, tell me what’s going on.  I know I agreed not to interfere with your personal business, but this is affecting your health.  I want to help, if I can.”

"You can’t," Zevian murmured, turning onto his side to press his palms against his temples.  "Not with this, love.  Do me a favor and bring me a glass of water and a couple of aspirin from my jacket, would you?"

"You’re carrying around the aspirin in your coat, now?"  If anything, Azurel sounded more belligerent and lecturing.  "If you’re having to take it regularly every day, something’s _really_ wrong.  Zev, I think you need to see a doctor.”

Zevian groaned and sat up, shutting his eyes against the pounding ache in his head.  “This isn’t something a doctor can help with, either.  The aspirin, gorgeous.  Bring me the aspirin.”

Azurel sighed.  “Okay.  Hold on a minute.”

"Thanks.  Shut the blinds, too.  The light makes it worse."

"Okay, Zevian.  I don’t want to cause you more pain." 

Zevian relaxed a little.  He’d come close to lashing out at Azurel, and he reminded himself that the lifebearer was only questioning him because he cared.  This wasn’t Azurel’s fault.  He heard him draw the blinds and he sensed the dimming of light, so he cautiously opened his eyes and looked at his lover, intending to try and explain what was going on with him.  He froze when he saw Obane’s phantom standing near Azurel, looking over the entertainer’s shoulder as he dug the bottle of aspirin out of the coat hanging over the back of one of the dining chairs.  Oblivious to his supernatural audience, Azurel shook two pills out into his palm before heading for the kitchenette to get the water. 

This certainly wasn’t the first time Obane had followed Azurel around since he began to appear again.  The ghostly villain took delight in tormenting his killer by hanging near the two lifebearers Zevian fancied and talking about the things he’d like to do to them.  This time, the rival guild lord was running his phantom hands over Azurel’s body—unable to actually _touch_ him, but going through the motions nonetheless as he smirked cruelly.  Zevian clenched his jaw and willed the ghost to go away, watching helplessly as Obane eyed his lover and began to speak.

“ _You haven’t enjoyed a good fuck with this pretty thing lately,_ " observed Obane. ” _Afraid I might walk in on you servicing him, Saber?  He’s a young one, this dancer of yours.  Young lifebearers need more cock than their older brethren to stay satisfied.  Having trouble keeping up with him, are you?  I’d be happy to take care of him for you._ ”

Before he even realized what he was doing, Zevian reached for the boot knives he’d left sitting on the bedside table within easy reach.  He hurled one at Obane’s phantom without thinking and he watched in horror as it spun end-over-end through the air.  He parted his lips to warn his lover, just as his knife passed through Obane and buried itself in the wall behind him—barely a foot away from Azurel’s head. 

Azurel stared wide-eyed at the vibrating handle of the knife, then at Zevian.  That was when the island lord knew he really _did_ need help. 

"Fuck…baby, I…that wasn’t meant for you," gasped Zevian.  He yanked the covers aside and for a change, the voices in his head quieted as he vaulted across the room to inspect the lifebearer.  His hands shook as he ran them over Azurel’s silk-clad body, checking for any signs of injury. 

"Zevian, it didn’t touch me," Azurel assured him in a shaken voice.  "But who was the knife meant for?  We’re alone."

Zevian shook his head and curled his fingers into his long, disheveled hair.  “We are _now_ , but a minute ago there was…shit.  You should get away from me, Azurel.  I see how he’s going to try and hurt you.  He’ll try to make _me_ do it.”

Azurel put the glass and the pills down on the counter and he cupped Zevian’s face in his hands.  “Who, Zev?  Who are you talking about?  Are you…seeing things?”

Zevian opened his eyes again and looked at him, unable to hide his torment any longer.  “Listen, the reason I’ve been drinking so much every night is because it helps me sleep.  I can’t hear the voices if I’m passed out.”

Azurel’s lovely bronze complexion paled a shade.  “Voices?”

Zevian sighed.  “Spirit voices, kid.  You know I inherited some of my sire’s dubious ‘gifts’, right?”

"Yes…you put that shield on me to protect me," answered the younger man.  He stroked Zevian’s hair.  "But you said you don’t actually hear the ancestors the way spirit singers do."

"I didn’t before," corrected Zevian.  "But now…look, something happened that day Agent Blackbird and his director came and had that meeting with me and L’daris."

Deciding to take advantage of the brief piece and quiet he was experiencing in his head, Zevian explained everything to his lover, to the best of his ability.

* * *

 

Glaive mumbled a complaint into his pillow as the knocking at his door persisted.  If the guild needed him for something, they should have called his phone.  He reached for the object blindly and checked it to make sure it wasn’t out of juice.  It wasn’t. 

"Who _is_ that?” muttered Haden, lifting his mussed, dark head from the pillow.

"I’m about to find out," sighed Glaive.  He patted the human on the rump and made sure the sheets fully covered him before getting out of bed and grabbing his robe. 

"Just a bloody minute," called the lishere to whomever was beating on their door.  "Unless you want a visual sample of my goods, give me a chance to get decent!"

Glaive’s umbrage rapidly faded when he finished securing his robe and opened the door to find Zevian’s beautiful entertainer standing there in a red silk robe.  “Oh,” he said, his tone gentling substantially.  “To what do I owe the pleasure, dancing beauty?”

"Please excuse me if I woke you," Azurel apologized, "but it’s very important and they told me this was your room.  Agent Glaive, Zevian could really use your help."

Glaive frowned.  “Saber?  Why?  Does he have new information about the case?”

Azurel shook his head, and his thick mane of pale lavender, black-tipped hair swayed around his hips with the motion.  “It’s personal, I’m afraid.  He’s…well, he’s hearing _voices_.  He’s also seeing things.”

Glaive’s brows furrowed.  “Seeing things?  I assume you don’t mean he got his hands on a magical mushroom and started hallucinating.”

"No."  Azurel looked up and down the hallway before leaning closer to the agent.  "He says he did something on Zarn that opened him up to the spirit world.  He says he can hear them now, the way spirit singers can.  He doesn’t know how to turn them off, though, and he’s starting to go a little mental, because of it.  Please, Agent Glaive, I asked him to go to the Chalice and get help from the Spirit Keepers, but he refuses to leave until this Sandman business is over.  I know you’re a spirit singer.  Do you think you could help him?"

Glaive remembered Zevian’s admission that he was afraid of going down the same path as his sire and he grimaced.  The man’s determination to see Tsyther go down must be very powerful indeed, for him to risk following him into madness.  He could empathize on some level with that, and he knew just how potent those spirit voices could get, if left unchecked.  He felt a moment of guilt for failing to notice something unusual going on with the man, but he reminded himself that he’d been too caught up in his own problems and the case to pay attention.

"Let me guess," sighed the lishere, "your studly rogue’s precious pride wouldn’t allow him to come and seek my help directly, so you took it upon yourself to do it for him."

Azurel shrugged, his eyes luminous with anxiety.  “It isn’t just pride.  Zevian is used to taking care of other people.  Honestly, I don’t think he knows _how_ to ask for help, even when he can admit he needs it.”

Glaive nodded, finding himself agreeing with that assessment of Saber’s character.  The man was like an alley cat; self-reliant, fiercely territorial and wary of anyone trying to offer him anything.  “Give me a minute to toss on some clothes and I’ll come.”

* * *

 

   Saber was sitting at the little table in the suite when Glaive and Azurel arrived, staring at a half-empty bottle of scotch.  He looked up when they entered the room and he peered at them from behind his octagonal red shades. 

"Agent Glaive," greeted the guild lord, his sensual mouth unusually tense.  "Can I pour you a drink?"

 ”It’s too early even for me,” answered Glaive as he shut the door behind him.  He frowned as the sire shrugged and started to reach for the bottle, evidently intending to drink straight from it.  “And you shouldn’t imbibe either.  Put the bottle down, Mr. Saber.”

Zevian snorted and peered over the top of his shades with bloodshot, aqua eyes.  “Scarier men than you have tried to order me around, Agent.”

Glaive didn’t smile.  “It isn’t the living you’re afraid of though, is it?”

Zevian hesitated.

Glaive nodded at the bottle, gentling his voice.  “Put it down, Zevian.  I know what you’re suffering through, and believe me when I say that alcohol isn’t the sort of medicine you need to manage your condition.”

Zevian considered him for a moment before looking at Azurel.  It seemed that the sight of his young lover’s pleading expression had a greater influence on him than Glaive’s words.  He put the bottle on the table and slid it away with a sigh.

"If you think you can help me control this before it drives me batshit crazy, be my guest."

Glaive nodded and he patted Azurel comfortingly on the shoulder before approaching the table and having a seat across from Zevian.  “Azurel, lovely, would you mind pouring your man a glass of fresh water?”

Azurel unquestioningly complied and Glaive studied Zevian quietly for a few heartbeats.  The shields that usually made the man virtually unreadable to him had unraveled, and Glaive could feel the chaos, pain and fear radiating from him.  A quick glimpse at his spirit was like diving into water that was freezing and boiling at the same time, while listening to a thousand voices screaming in his ears.  Glaive hissed and quickly withdrew, rubbing his forehead as he stared at the other man with unveiled amazement.

"Mr. Saber, I am _fucking_ impressed.  What you’re dealing with now is as bad as it gets, and I should know.  A spell like this can usually reduce most beginners to sobbing wrecks, yet here you sit with only a light sheen of sweat to mark your torment.”

"Give it time," joked the guild lord tensely.  "I’m close to turning into one of those wrecks.  So, how do I turn this shit off?"

Glaive shook his head.  “I can’t work with you when you’re like this, I’m afraid.”

Azurel stopped in the middle of carrying a glass of water to the table.  Even with that abrupt motion, he didn’t spill a single drop of the liquid.  “You said you would help him!”

"And I will," assured the agent in a pacifying tone, holding Zevian’s reddened, dilated gaze with his own, "but first, we have to calm that raging torrent inside his head."

"And how do we _do_ that, if you can’t work with me?”  Zevian spoke through his teeth, his jaw clenching.  His eyes were glowing with anxiety, hinting that his self-control was getting tenuous.  “I can’t stay like this, Agent Glaive.  I already came close to hurting Azurel by accident.”

"How so?"  Glaive reached into his pocket for the bottle of pills he grabbed when he got dressed. 

"I threw a knife at him," answered Zevian.  "I owe your department money for the hole I put in the wall over there, by the kitchenette."

Glaive’s eyebrows shot up as he looked and spotted the slit in the wall that Zevian was talking about.  “And you threw a knife at your lover _why_?”

"I was aiming for the ghost standing next to him," answered Zevian.  "Obane Undir; L’daris’ sire.  He’s been haunting me, making threats against Azurel and…other people.  I think he’s trying to get me to slip up and hurt Azurel, since he can’t do it himself."

"Hmm." Glaive fished out the pills and opened the container as Azurel set the glass of water on the table.  He knew the basic story behind Obane Undir and Zevian, but he needed to be sure.  "Was this the man that gave the order to have you killed?  The one that resulted in—"

"The death of my mate," finished Zevian with a growl, before Glaive could.  He nodded and took his shades off, dropping them to the table with a clatter.  "Yes.  He killed Urahis and I killed him and his men in retaliation."

Azurel stepped up behind the mafia lord and started rubbing his shoulders soothingly, while looking at Glaive with aching ruby eyes that begged him to help the tormented sire.

"Is he the only spirit you’ve had visual contact with?" Glaive asked, giving the lifebearer a reassuring wink that said he wasn’t going to let anything happen to Zevian.

Zevian shook his head and took a sip of water.  “No.  I saw my mate, too.”  He twisted in his seat to look up at Azurel, who had paused and now stood with an uncertain look on his face.  “That reminds me; I meant to tell you but I couldn’t figure out how to say it without sounding like a raving knutter.  Urahis likes you, kid.  He’s given us his blessing.  That’s the only good thing in all of this.”

Azurel gave him a tremulous smile and bent over to kiss him on the mouth.

"Interesting," murmured Glaive, his eyes going blank as he mulled the information over.

"What is?" prompted Azurel.  "Urahis giving his blessing?"

Glaive shook his head.  “The manifestations, themselves.  It takes a lot of love or a lot of hate for a spirit to muster the energy to make a visual appearance on this side.  Do you see Urahis as often as you see your old rival?”

Zevian shut his eyes and put the glass down again, rubbing his temples.  “No.  I only saw him once, just after the first time I saw Obane.  I could _feel_ him when he touched me, too.  He seemed solid, not like Obane.  He said it was because I wanted to touch him as much as he wanted to touch me, or something along those lines.  He said he was going to protect me and keep Obane and the others away for a while, but he wanted me to get some help.  I guess he couldn’t hold them back anymore.”

Zevian looked at Glaive and a flash of angst manifested on his strained, attractive features before he could control it.  “The dead can’t be hurt, right?  I haven’t seen or heard from him since that day.”

"Don’t worry," Glaive assured him.  "Your mate’s spirit isn’t in any danger.  If he’s been protecting you, then he’s likely exhausted himself to the point where he can’t communicate with you.  Spirit energy replenishes over time, just like living energy.  Still, don’t get your hopes up that you’ll see him again, Zevian.  Spirits tend not to hang around their living loved ones unless they have dire need to, because it’s painful for both parties and it makes it more difficult to accept their passing." 

 Zevian lowered his eyes and twisted the ring on his middle left finger.  “I know.  He said something about that too, now that you mention it.”

 Glaive nodded.  The love that Urahis bore for Zevian must be phenomenal, for him to have not only manifested visually but physically, even for a brief period.  He refrained from saying so out loud, mindful of Zevian’s living romantic partner.  Azurel didn’t need anyone reminding him of how much Zevian and Urahis loved each other.  It was obvious he was well aware of that, on his own.

"Take two of these," offered Glaive after procuring two capsules from the container he’d brought.  "Take one every four hours after that, until things quiet down to a whisper in your head.  You won’t get complete silence in there again until I teach you some basic mental exercises, but these pills will dull it down to a manageable level and help you relax and get some sleep."

Zevian regarded the little yellow capsules suspiciously.  “What kind of side effects am I looking at, if I take those?”

"Nausea and double vision are the most likely ones," answered Glaive, "but I’ve never met anyone that had a bad reaction.  It’s called Kaxelon and it’s non-addictive.  Don’t try to drive after taking these, though.  They _will_ make you drowsy…possibly even a bit giddy.”

Zevian sighed and held his hand out for them.  “Fantastic.  Well, it can’t be any worse than drinking myself into a stupor to get some peace and quiet.”

* * *

 

After giving him the medication, Glaive urged Zevian to lie down and he instructed Azurel to keep the room dim and as quiet as possible while the medicine did its work.  He assured them that he would start teaching Zevian basic mental exercises to shut out the voices, but if he wanted to learn how to control his abilities without accidentally harming someone, he needed to seek proper training eventually.  That seemed to satisfy Zevian and he obligingly followed Glaive’s instructions, visibly too worn out to question them.

"Thank you for all of this," Azurel said to Glaive sincerely as he showed him to the door.  "I’ll make sure he takes his medicine on time and I’ll do my best to keep him relaxed."

Glaive looked him up and down and he grinned charmingly, winking at him.  “I’m sure you can guess the sort of therapy I’d suggest you try to relax him with, as soon as he’s in a better frame of mind.”

Azurel chuckled.  “Of course.  For now, though, I think I’ll start with massage and lavender oil.”

"Wise move," approved Glaive.  He looked at the bed, where poor Zevian tossed fitfully while he waited for the medicine to muffle the voices and put him to sleep.  "I should warn you that these spells can lead some people to violent delusions.  If _that_ begins to happen, you get out of here immediately and come get me.  Don’t try to be a hero, sweetness.  Think of how Saber would feel if he accidentally snapped your pretty neck in a fit of uncontrolled rage, because you wouldn’t leave his side.  The sooner you get help, the sooner he can be restrained and dealt with safely.”

Azurel swallowed, wanting to deny that Zevian would ever harm him, but aware that the man wasn’t in his right mind.  “I understand.”

Glaive smiled.  “Good.  Don’t let it worry you overly.  Having seen that man’s fortitude, I doubt it will come to that.”

Azurel nodded and thanked him again, shutting and locking the door behind him when Glaive left.  He sighed and turned around to face the bed, watching his lover with helpless, sympathetic eyes as Zevian groaned and fretted.  Azurel didn’t waste any time; he went to the bathroom and retrieved his toiletry bag, where his essential oils were kept.  He got out the lavender oil and he hiked his robe up as he climbed onto the bed and straddled Zevian’s hips.

"Shh, love," murmured the lifebearer as he opened the little bottle of oil and looked down at Zevian’s sweaty, troubled face.  "Try to relax, okay?  I’ll help you."

He unscrewed the cap and dabbed some of the oil onto his fingertips, before setting the bottle on the nightstand.  He rubbed Zevian’s temples first and he crooned softly to him, arching over him to plant soft little kisses on his parted lips now and then.  The question on his mind tumbled past his lips as he worked on making his lover more comfortable. 

"Why did you have to wait until it got this bad before admitting you need help?"

Zevian opened his intense, feline eyes to gaze up at him and he smirked, looking a little more like himself.  “Because I’m a bonehead, according to every lifebearer who’s ever cared about me.”

Azurel laughed softly at that and kissed him again.  “You _are_ a bonehead.  But you’re _my_ bonehead now, and I’m going to look after you.”   

* * *

 

Zevian’s condition improved by the next day, and the medicine eased his symptoms enough for Glaive to take time out and begin teaching him some of the basic essentials of managing spirit voices.

"Don’t expect to have your head all to yourself again," warned the lishere.  "Once you’ve learned to do this, you’ll get most of your inner privacy back, but you’re never going to be completely alone again."

Zevian shrugged it off.  “I’ve got men surrounding me all the time.  I’ll cope.”

They trained every day, twice a day between Glaive’s other duties.  Thanks to Zevian’s sheer stubborn determination and Glaive’s encouragement, the guild lord learned relatively quickly how to banish unwanted visitors like Obane.  According to Glaive, those who had unfinished business in life were most likely to pass between the veil.  Zevian was taking no chances; not just for his own sake, but for the safety of his lover, son and everyone else he gave a damn about.

 Glaive approved of how serious the guild lord was taking his lessons.  Zevian confessed that it was humbling to be in the position of a student again—especially when his “teacher” was a couple of centuries younger than he was.  Still, he proved that he was capable of putting his pride on the back burner for the sake of personal improvement, when it counted.  Gone was the cavalier confidence, replaced by an intense desire to control his own world as best he could.  Glaive didn’t need to teach him how to strengthen his psychic shields; Zevian already had that skill down to an art. 

It was all well and good to teach the man how to block the spirit voices and how to reach out with his senses to detect paranormal activity and elemental power surges, but Glaive knew Zevian needed more thorough training than he could give him.  The skills he taught him would prevent him from sinking into madness like his sire, but Zevian’s full potential couldn’t be reached until he devoted time to training with the Soul Keepers in the Chalice. 

"He won’t do it," Glaive said to his partner one night over the weekend as they lay recovering from intense, sweaty sex.

Haden lifted his head from the lishere’s shoulder and frowned at him.  “Who won’t do what?”

"Saber," explained Glaive, absently stroking Haden’s sweat-dampened ebony hair.  "He won’t travel to the Chalice to get some training from official tutors.  I don’t mind saying I’m a suck teacher, mate.  Beyond the basics, I have no idea how to instruct someone on wielding spiritual energy.  It’s more than tapping the ether and it’s more than manipulating the elements.  It’s a bit of both, and _that’s_ why spirit singing is so complicated and difficult to master.”

"The guy wants to see his old man brought to justice," reasoned Haden.  He kissed the lishere’s frowning mouth.  "Hey, you’ve done your part and you’ve saved him from going crazy.  I’m proud of you for that, man."

Glaive shrugged and nuzzled the human’s hair as Haden laid his head against his shoulder again.  “What else _could_ I have done, leave him floundering until he went insane and harmed himself or someone else?  I just wish I could convince the man to further his training.  He has a shit-ton of potential, but he just won’t leave—even though I’ve promised him we would notify him the moment any changes occur within the case.  He’d have to file some paperwork before leaving, but that’s a pittance.”

"If he doesn’t want to do it yet, don’t stress over it," advised Haden with a yawn.  "He’s obviously satisfied leaving things the way they are for now, since he’s not losing his mind anymore.  I’m sure he’ll go for more training after things settle down.  He’s got stuff happening back home he has to keep an eye on too, you know."

"Mmm, yes," sighed Glaive.  "His guild.  He left one of his sharks in charge of the business while he’s away, and he can’t ignore what L’daris tried to do to him and the other island boss.  It leaves me to wonder where the other, lesser guild lords are going to lay their chips when it comes to choosing loyalties."

"I think more of them will side with Saber," guessed Haden.  "Just because I’ve seen a picture of L’daris and heard what he’s like.  Zevian’s got him beat on charisma and looks, for sure."

"But when it comes to mafia business, a charming smile and a witty sense of humor may not be worth as much as a sense of brutal deviance."  Glaive caressed Haden’s shoulder and narrowed his eyes in thought.  "L’daris is unlikable, but he’s ruthless and he gets results.  Some of the families on those island might go for that over Zevian’s charm."

"But Zevian blew away Obane Undir and a bunch of his men, single-handed," reasoned Haden.  "That has to win him some ruthless points, don’t you think?"

"Hmm, good point."  Glaive shrugged.  "I suppose it could go either way.  People are going to side with whomever they think will bring them the most prosperity and protection.  Ah well, I can’t concern myself with the intricacies of mafia life, right now.  This is the weekend and we should both be enjoying it."

"No arguments here," agreed Haden.  His hand slipped beneath the covers and he grinned as he sought out Glaive’s sated cock and began to fondle it.  "So, how about we do a little more ‘enjoying’, babe?"

Glaive purred with pleasure as the human’s talented, calloused hand re-awoke his sex.  “That’s an outstanding idea.”

* * *

 

While Zevian was hard at work taming his newly awakened abilities, his son was hard at work writing music with his band mates in Rhuidhim.  It was late afternoon at the Adder house.  Evindar had a studio in the basement of the house, where he and his band composed, rehearsed and sometimes recorded music.  Today, they were sitting around on the leather furniture trying to decide what to do with their latest piece of work.

"I don’t know if I like this part," Evindar sighed, his gray-violet eyes scanning over the sheet music.  He absently rubbed his pregnancy-swollen belly in little circles and he shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable.  "It starts off energetic, but then it seems to get dull at the end."

Orindel looked down at his copy with a frown.  “Yo, he’s right, guys.  It starts out ripping and turns into a yawner.”

Lorik shook his head and grimaced.  “I don’t see it.  Shade?”

Beside him on the couch, the guitarist shrugged ambivalently.  “Maybe.”

Orindel stood up and went to retrieve his bass, standing in the center of the recording room.  “How about we play it out, then?  We’ll have better luck pinpointing what’s wrong with it, that way.”

Evin nodded and he struggled to get up.  “That’s a good idea.” 

Seeing the effort he was putting forth, Shade smiled softly and got up to offer the expecting singer a hand.  Evindar thanked him with a dry smirk and took his hand to get up.  “I’ll be so glad when this is over,” complained the singer.  He brushed his ponytail back over his shoulder and stretched, grimacing.  “Just between us, sometimes I think I was insane to actually _want_ this.  Pregnancy sucks at the end.”

Lorik smiled at him and he approached him to place a gentle hand over the swell of Evindar’s abdomen.  “Is he still kicking?  Oh.” A second after he asked the question, he felt the activity beneath his hand.

"He hardly stops, now," grunted Evindar.  "All week long, he’s been playing.  I think my kidneys are bruised."

"He’s going to be a drummer, like me," predicted Lorik with a chuckle.

"It won’t be long now," Shade reminded softly.  "You’re due this week, aren’t you?"

"Before next weekend," agreed Evindar with a nod. 

He walked to his microphone stand with as much grace as his body would allow, this late in the pregnancy.  While lifebearers didn’t get as big as human women in the final trimester of gestation, their male bodies weren’t designed to carry the weight as sufficiently.  The encumbrance forced most lifebearers to waddle just as much as women, by the end of pregnancy.  Evindar was no exception and his band mates looked on with fond amusement as he tried to look dignified. 

He ignored their grins and he lifted his copy of the song up as everyone got into place and readied their instruments.  “Shall we do this from the top, or would it be better to play this score alone first?”

"If we’re taking it from the top, you should pull up the stool and sit," suggested Orindel with a faintly concerned grimace.  "You’ve been on your feet too much today, Evi."

"I’m okay," Evindar insisted—even though his back was aching fiercely and he suspected he’d already had a couple of contractions.  He’d already had two instances of false contractions this month, and he refused to call Ronin and send him into another panic until he knew it wasn’t another false alarm.  "Let’s just play this part and see if—"

His breath escaped in a _whoosh_ as his muscles clenched again around his diaphragm and pelvic area, strongly enough this time to make him stagger a little.  His expression went blank and he stopped reaching for his mic to settle a hand over his stomach, his lips rounding briefly as he sucked in a slow breath.

"Evindar?" Lorik was looking at him with suspicious brown eyes.

The singer tried to brush it off.  “It’s nothing,” he grunted. 

The contraction didn’t ease up and he dropped his sheet music and grabbed the microphone stand for support.  “Um, on second thought, I think we may need to put this off until later.”

Orindel immediately put his base on the stand and went to Evindar’s side, putting one hand on the singer’s lower back and the other on his extended abdomen.  When he felt how tight the bump was, he regarded his friend with wide, lavender eyes. 

"Evi, are you getting ready to spit this kid out?"

Evindar started to grin at his word usage, but the discomfort he was feeling progressed into pain.  “I…don’t know,” he answered tensely.  “I’ve had false contractions before.  Just give it a while.”

"Bring him to the couch," suggested Lorik. 

"I’ll go get some water," offered Shade.

"Should we call R-man?" Orin questioned as he helped Evindar over to the couch.

"No." Evindar shook his head and he sank gratefully down on the piece of furniture.  The tension eased up and he breathed easier.  "Not until I’m sure this is the real thing.  Ronin nearly killed himself running down the fire escape staircase at the hospital, the last time this happened.  By the time he got here, they stopped."

Shade came back from the mini fridge with a bottle of chilled springwater for Evindar.  He opened it and handed it over to him, watching him with a quietly concerned amber gaze. 

"Thank you," Evindar said.  "Nobody panic. Even if these _are_ real contractions, it takes time for a baby to be born.  I could be in labor all through the night before this child comes out, so don’t scare yourselves thinking you’ll have to help me with a home delivery, okay?”

"Hey, I’ve heard stories about it coming on so fast, people don’t make it to the delivery room," Orindel said, drawing horrified looks from the two sires in the room. 

"That’s so rare, it’s almost negligible," insisted Evindar.  "Just sit with me and talk about the music, all right?  It’s scary enough to think that this could be the ‘big day’, without the three of you getting each other worked up.  I need calm."

"Yes, anxiety isn’t good for you," Shade agreed.  "Put your feet up."

Evindar sighed as the guitarist fussed over him, trying to make him more comfortable.

* * *

 

_Valkyrie Falls, early the next morning:_

Ammiteo frowned when he saw Zevian heading heading for the elevator with Azurel and his two bodyguards.  They each had suitcases.  He called out to the guild lord, forgetting about his intention to ask Idrisar to come with him to the arts and crafts festival in the middle of the week. 

"Saber, where are you going?" Ammiteo asked when the other sire and his companion stopped to look at him. 

"Rhuidhim," answered Zevian calmly. "We should only be gone for a couple of days."

"Did you put out a notice?" demanded Ammiteo.  "I can’t let you leave without filing the proper paperwork…not in the middle of this case.  You’re too deeply involved in it."

Zevian raised his sunglasses to sit on his head and he frowned at the director, parting his lips to answer.  Before he could speak, Idrisar came out of his office and saw the tension between them all.  He approached quickly, looking between Ammiteo and Zevian as he spoke.

"Is something wrong?"

"Your director here doesn’t want to let us leave," informed Zevian with a nod at the bigger sire.  "I thought I was a collaborator on this case, not a prisoner."

"Of course, you aren’t a prisoner," Idrisar assured him, "but this is a classified case and nobody assigned to it can leave the city without clearance, understand?  If you’ll take the time to fill out the paperwork so that we’ll have contact and travel information, there won’t be an issue."

"I don’t have time," Zevian said.  "We’ve got a half hour to get to the airport and to our gate, Blackbird.  I can’t miss this plane."

"We can’t let you pick up and go, just like that," Ammiteo warned with a frown.  "I thought you understood the agreement, Mr. Saber."

Zevian sighed.  “Look, my god son is having his kid.  I promised him I’d be there to welcome it into the world.”

Idrisar brightened.  “Evindar is having the baby?  Has it really been six months?”

"He’s a touch early," answered the mafia lord, "but yeah, they’ve got him set up in the hospital now and my son’s having a conniption over it.  If I don’t catch this flight I’ll have to wait for the next one, and I might not get there before the baby comes.  Cut me some slack, would you?"

Idrisar considered it and he looked to his boss.  “Sir, I’ll fill out the paperwork for him.”

Ammiteo considered the offer and nodded in agreement.

Idrisar looked at Zevian and he pulled out his mobile phone.  “Give me the flight information and the location of where you’re going to be staying over there, as well as your return travel information.  I’ll tap it in and take care of the rest.”

Zevian relaxed.  “Thanks.”  He gave him the requested information.

"I’m doing this on _one_ condition,” Idrisar informed him, suddenly sober.

Zevian raised a brow.  “And that condition is?”

"You have to bring back pictures."  The agent’s serious expression faded into a soft smile.

Zevian and Azurel smiled at each other.  “I think I can arrange that,” agreed the sire.

"I’ve got a new camera to break in," assured Azurel.  "We’ll have plenty of photos to share, when we get back."

"Good.  Now go, before you miss your flight.  Please give Dr. Adder and his mate our congratulations, too."

* * *

 

The trip was like a blur to Azurel.  First, there was the haste of packing their things at short notice and the rush to the airport, then there was the awkwardness that ensued when a bold—and not very wise—sire pinched him on the butt in passing when they got there.  Trying to convince Zevian not to kill the moron was a test of every distracting skill Azurel had ever learned.  Outwardly, he chastised his lover as an over-possessive brute, but inwardly he found Zevian’s protective reaction to the situation thrilling. 

They made it onto the plane without anyone getting maimed or killed, only to discover that there was an error with the tickets and Azurel was assigned to a seat in a separate isle from Zevian.  He shrugged it off as an unfortunate inconvenience—until he saw the lifebearer that Zevian ended up seated next to.  Long, white hair, big blue eyes and soft, bow-shaped lips quickly served to remind Azurel that he had some possessive instincts of his own.  After the plane reached the desired altitude and movement around the cabin was permitted, Azurel saw Zevian laugh with the attractive stranger he was seated next to and he decided to make it known that the handsome guild lord was taken.  He was used to Zevian’s flirting and he trusted him, but he didn’t trust attractive strangers to take his flirting as the harmless play that it was. 

Azurel approached his lover’s isle seat and cast a confident, dismissive ruby glance at the lifebearer sitting next to him.  He bent over to speak near the sire’s piercing decorated, pointed ear. “Zevian, I’m going to get the stewardess’ attention for a cocktail.  Would you like me to order your favorite drink for you?”  He stroked Zevian’s bicep as he spoke and he gave him an adoring look.

Zevian looked somewhat confused by the offer, but he shrugged.  “Uh, yeah.  I guess I could use a scotch.”  He looked up at Azurel and his expression changed to one of dawning comprehension.  A crooked, knowing smile curved his lips and he raised a hand to his mouth and curled it into a fist, coughing into it.  “Thanks for looking out for me, gorgeous.”

Refusing to be embarrassed by the man’s apparent knowledge of what was going on, Azurel gave him one of his most charming, seductive smiles.  “I always look out for my man.”

Zevian nodded in agreement, his eyes twinkling with amusement.  “Yes, you do.  So do I.”

Azurel gave him a kiss, letting it linger just long enough to leave no doubt to anyone watching that he and Zevian were together.  Confidence restored, he returned to his seat and pressed the call button for a flight attendant. 

* * *

 

-To be continued


	17. Chapter 17

* * *

_Rhuidhim central hospital:_

"Ungh!  _Why_ did I ever think this was a good idea?” Evindar groaned and fretted, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead as he rode out another contraction.  He lay on his side, with his mate sitting on the edge of the bed behind him, massaging his back. “Ronin…why won’t they let me _push_ yet?”

"Your water hasn’t broken," answered the doctor with a grimace of guilty sympathy.  "If it doesn’t happen naturally by the time you’ve dilated far enough, they’ll break it for you.  I know it hurts, baby.  Just hang on a while longer, okay?"

"You know _nothing,_ " growled the suffering lifebearer through his teeth.  His agony was quickly destroying his coherent thought and he began to lash out at his spouse uncharacteristically.  He craned his neck to glare at the sire over his shoulder.  "It should be _you_ lying here doing this.  You’re the one that wanted a child so bad!”

 ”Okay, I deserved that and any insults you throw at me,” said Ronin patiently, his green eyes gentle and loving on his panting mate.  “This is the one part I haven’t been looking forward to.  I hate seeing you in pain, Evindar.  I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

"We’ll see," Evindar groaned.  "Ah…oh…another one…R-Ronin!"

The sire quickly grabbed his reaching hand as Evindar suffered another heavy contraction.  Ronin clenched his jaw as his mate’s crushing grip threatened to break fingers, but he bore it in silence, figuring he could bear this pain if Evindar could endure labor.

* * *

 

_Some time later:_

"Holy shit, it’s a full house."  Zevian’s eyebrows shot up as he walked into the private waiting room he and Azurel were directed to.  Evindar’s band was there, of course, along with Orindel’s spouse, a lanky sire with shoulder-length, pewter colored hair and sea-green eyes, Evindar’s band manager, a couple of other sires he didn’t recognize and Evindar’s parents.  It seemed that half of the people the Adder couple knew on Rhuidhim were there, waiting for the birth.

Zevian forgot about his surprise when his beautiful, badly dressed son came bounding over to him with the energy and enthusiasm of a teenager—or a puppy.  “Pops!  It’s about time you got here!  I was starting to wonder if you’d make it before Evi’s crotchfruit comes out.”

Zevian struggled between a smile and a frown as he embraced Orindel.  He spoke into the young man’s ear, very aware of the disapproving frowns on Evindar’s parents’ faces.  “Don’t call the baby ‘crotchfruit’ in front of all these people, kid—especially his grandparents.  Tone it down, would you?”

Orindel glanced behind him at the couple sitting beside each other on one of the lounges.  “They know how I am by now, Dad.  Evi’s parents like me, even if they won’t admit it.”  He stepped away from his sire and he looked at Azurel shrewdly.  “Hey, hot stuff.  I haven’t seen you in a while.  Oh, and how’s it going, you guys?” He nodded at Johnny and Therril, who stood respectfully behind Zevian and out of the way.  The two mobsters returned Orin’s smile and they each gave him a nod of greeting.

"Good to see you again, Orindel," greeted Azurel cordially.  "Excuse me, I’ll just go and have a seat over there."  It was impossible for him to be completely inconspicuous with his exotic looks, but Azurel moved with quiet grace, avoiding drawing attention to himself as family and friends discussed the impending birth. 

Alistair hesitantly approached and he put an arm around Orindel.  The architect looked good in his dark burgundy suit, with the sides of his long, deep auburn hair pulled back.  He nodded at Zevian respectfully, his light blue gaze wary but determined.  “Mr. Saber, Sir.  It’s good to see you.”

Zevian resisted a smirk and he regarded the hand offered to him by the younger sire.  “I doubt that.”

He saw the demanding look his son gave him from the corner of his eye, and from the _other_ corner, he saw Azurel’s remonstrating look.  He sighed and took Alistair’s hand, shaking it in a firm grasp.  “What the hell…call me Zevian.  I’ll have to get used to you eventually.”

A hint of a smile curved Alistair’s mouth up at one corner.  “I appreciate your graciousness, Zevian.  So, do you think Evindar’s baby will be a sire or a lifebearer?”

"I haven’t thought about it, to be honest," answered Zevian.  "Let’s just focus on hoping father and child make it safely through."

Alistair nodded and Orindel cast a worried look over his shoulder at the double-doors leading into the hallway that fed into the birthing wing.  “I hope Evi’s okay.  He’s been in full-blown labor for almost half a day, now.”

Zevian frowned.  “As in, ready to push labor?”

Orindel nodded.  “Yup.  They let me in there for a minute to see him an hour ago.  He looked fucking tortured.  There’s not enough ass-kissing in the _world_ to convince me to do that shit.  Sorry, pops.”

Zevian sighed and glanced at his son’s mate.   Alistair only smiled fondly at the small, wild bassist, as if Orindel were truly the light of his life.  He politely excused himself to go and speak with Evindar’s guitarist and drummer.  Zevian huffed a soft laugh and shook his head.  Like his father, Orin had a way of wrapping his partner around his finger.

"I’m through arguing the matter," decided Zevian.  He stuck his hands into the pockets of his trousers and he winked at Azurel when the dancer’s ruby eyes briefly met his across the distance.  Azurel gave him a soft little smile and lowered his gaze almost shyly. 

"I saw that."

Zevian frowned at his son.  “Saw _what_?”

Orindel grinned slyly and made a subtle motion with his head, jerking his chin in Azurel’s direction.  “The wink.  I _knew_ something was up when he showed up with you.  I’ve seen you take in strays, but you don’t drag them to family affairs like this.  ‘Fess up, Boss Cat…you’re doing him.”

"Keep your damned voice down," warned Zevian in a low voice, mindful of the other people in the room.  Not generally one for bashfulness, he nonetheless had an old-fashioned sense of propriety in some situations.  Having his child announce his sex life to a room full of mixed company happened to be a button-pusher.  "Yeah, I’ve taken him as my lover.  There, it’s out."

"Lecher," teased Orindel.  He sobered a second later upon seeing the exasperated look in Zevian’s eye. "Hey, seriously though…if he makes you happy, I’m all for it.  I’m just yanking your chain, old man."

Zevian put an arm roughly around the lifebearer and he grinned as Orindel stumbled and objected to having his flaxen, red-streaked hair ruffled.  He murmured into his son’s ear, feeling a moment of odd uncertainty.  “Do you…like him?”

Orindel peeked up from beneath disheveled locks of blond hair.  “Azurel?  Sure.  He’s a cool guy.  I just feel sorry that he had to hook up with a fossil like you.”

"You’re pushing your luck, kid." 

Zevian tried to hold his stern expression, but it slipped to let a grin of relief through.  While he was sure Orindel was aware he’d satisfied his baser needs with lifebearers before, this was the first time he’d ever tried his hand at a relationship since the death of Urahis.  His son’s acceptance of his choice meant more to him than he expected, and Zevian realized for the first time what it must have been like for Orindel to seek his approval with his architect.

"We really don’t make things easy for each other, do we?" observed Zevian as he gave his son a one-armed hug.

"We wouldn’t be as interesting if we did," insisted the bassist.  "Hey, here comes R-man!  Let’s go talk to him, Pops!"

It took a moment for Zevian to comprehend that his son was speaking of Ronin Adder, who had just walked into the waiting room.  The blond sire was wearing a set of scrubs over his clothes and he looked both excited and stressed at the same time.  Everyone crowded around him as he announced his mate’s status.

"Thanks for coming, and I’m sorry about the security issues and the press," said Ronin to the group.  "Evin is doing okay, but his water hasn’t broken, yet.  They’re going to do it surgically, so that he can start pushing.  We’re hoping the baby will come by morning.  I’ve got everyone’s contact information, so you don’t all need to stay here.  You should get some rest and come back after the baby is born."

Everyone looked at each other before unanimously agreeing to stay and wait it out.  The tall sire with the haunted eyes and the silver hair came forward and he laid a supportive hand on Ronin’s right shoulder.

"You’ve been wanting this for a long time.  I’m too excited for you to leave."  He smiled in a gentle manner, his shy eyes friendly on the expecting sire.

Ronin smiled back.  “Thanks, Eredin.  I feel better just knowing you’re here.”

* * *

 

Since it was a private waiting room, everyone had room to stretch out over the furniture and get semi-comfortable.  By three in the morning, just about everyone had dozed off.  Lorik had his seat reclined and Shade was sleeping with his head on his shoulder.  Across from them, Alistair lay on his back on one of the sofas, with his arms loosely around the small, wild-looking lifebearer who lay directly on top of him.  Zevian was sprawled in a similar position, leaned back against the corner of the modular lounge he reclined on, with his young lover partially stretched out on top of him.  He wasn’t entirely asleep yet and he stroked Azurel’s soft, lustrous hair continuously, like he was petting a cat.  Evindar’s parents were each reclined in loungers, sleeping fitfully.  Ronin’s two work associates went home to their families after midnight with the promise that they would return to see the baby once it was born. 

That left Eredin.  He sat apart from everyone else, envying the couples in their closeness.  His own boyfriend couldn’t make it due to a photo shoot that he couldn’t cancel at short notice, but Eredin had promised him and his peppy friend Rhiannon that he would get snapshots of the new baby and its parents.  The reproductive therapist sighed and went through his existing photos on his mobile phone, smiling softly to himself when he came across a few of Auric; including a couple of pictures of the two of them together.  He himself wasn’t very photogenic, but his gorgeous model seemed to brighten his gloom like a beam of sunlight.

It was very difficult to keep practicing restraint.  Eredin hadn’t been with anyone since Lisos died in that explosion, years ago when he and Ronin were training in the military.  Eredin was a bit old fashioned when it came to romance, and he believed in getting to know someone intimately before getting physically intimate with them.  He had avoided romance since the fire took his previous lover away from him.  Every time he looked down at his hands and saw the faded scars left to him from his futile effort to save Lisos from the burning building, he was reminded of what he’d lost.  For the longest time, he felt like he would be betraying Lisos’ memory by dating anyone else.  He felt like he didn’t _deserve_ to be happy, after failing to rescue him.

The road to redemption was long and twisted for Eredin, and it took all this time for him to learn how to forgive himself.  Lisos wouldn’t have wanted him to be alone forever.  He knew this, and yet up until he met Auric, he stubbornly clung to his guilt, wearing it like a mantle around his shoulders.  With Ronin and Evindar’s encouragement, he eventually worked up the courage to ask Auric out on a date, and others soon followed until they became an official item.  Lately, Auric Rayne’s warmth and light broke through those dark clouds, bringing hope and comfort to a desolate spirit. 

Eredin traced the image of his boyfriend’s face on the phone screen and he sighed softly.  He wasn’t going to take Auric for granted.  What the model had done for him—probably without even realizing it—was a precious thing indeed.  No matter how much he wanted him, Eredin was determined to take it slow.  He wanted to show him that he meant more to him than sex, even if it was sheer torture to deprive himself of taking full advantage of that perfect, tawny body.  Perhaps he would even propose to him and save the final consummation for their Vashekna night.  He couldn’t predict how serious it might get, but he was beginning to dare hope that he’d found “The one”.

Eredin was so busy with his thoughts of Auric and their future that he didn’t notice Ronin coming into the waiting room.  He jumped when his friend’s hand settled on his shoulder and he nearly cried out in alarm, until he turned and recognized the sire looking down at him.

"Gods, you startled me," gasped Eredin as softly as possible, giving his friend a sheepish smile.  "How are things progressing?"

Ronin beamed happily.  “We have a beautiful baby lifebearer, Eredin.  We’ve named him Tory, and he’s resting with his father now.  I want you to be the first to see him.”

"A _lifebearer_?” Repeated Eredin, pleasantly surprised.  These days, only one in five lashran pregnancies produced a lifebearer.  He and Ronin were both lucky to have found available lifebearers in their most fertile stage of life.  “You must be beside yourself with pride, my friend.”

Ronin took a breath and laughed softly in a giddy manner.  “Absolutely.  I’m also a little terrified.  Most all of us hope to have at least _one_ lifebearer when we start building families, but I’m very much aware of the added trials that await me as he grows to maturity.  He looks just like Evindar did at that age, when I compare the baby pictures I’ve seen of him.  I’ll be fighting off waves of lovesick sires.”

"You have a few years before you need to worry about defending your son from suitors," reminded Eredin dryly.  "Don’t get ahead of yourself.  Right now, your challenges include living with sleep deprivation, dirty diapers, colic and diaper rash."

"Handling a baby is the easy part," insisted Ronin.  "It’s when he starts walking and talking that worries me."  He grabbed Eredin’s arm and urged him to his feet.  "Come and see him, before the others wake up.  You won’t believe how tiny he is!"

* * *

 

Eredin’s visit was quiet, as usual.  He complimented the exhausted new father on a job well done and he took a few pictures with his phone.  Since he was staying with the couple while he was in Rhuidhim, he promised to make sure the house was ready for their return home with the baby, and then he left to go and get some much-needed sleep.  Evindar shared a tired smile with Ronin as he fed the infant from the bottle of formula provided by the nurse. 

At first, he was anxious over the possibility of his son having a bad reaction to the formula, but Ronin assured him that such instances were so rare, they were almost negligible.  Unlike humans, lashran couldn’t produce milk for their offspring and their young were born with all of their baby teeth.  In the old days, a diet of goat or cow milk was common for the first week of a newborn’s life, and then baby food made of various vegetable, dairies and meat products ground to a fine paste took over until the child was old enough to learn to chew his own food.  These days, oatmeal and milk formula was the beginner diet of choice.

"He likes it," sighed Evindar with relief as the baby suckled greedily at the bottle and looked up at them with bright, curious eyes.  Tory’s whimpers of distress faded as his demand for food was met.  The indignant flush from his earlier cries faded from his soft, chubby cheeks and he reflexively curled his miniscule fingers around Ronin’s pinky as the sire stroked his face.

Ronin smiled and kissed Evindar’s cheek.  “I told you not to worry.”

"You were worried too," insisted the singer with a knowing smirk.  "Admit it."

The sire chuckled and lowered his gaze.  “All right, fine.  I was a _little_ concerned.  This is my first, after all.  It’s harder to take my own advice to new parents than I thought it would be.  Now I can better appreciate the anxiety that so many of them suffer when their first child comes along.”

"I’ll bet some of your clients can’t wait to say: ‘told you so’."

Ronin nodded.  “I won’t challenge that wager, love.”

"Excuse me, Dr. Adder?" A sire nurse stuck his head in.  "The grandparents have requested a visit.  Can I show them in?"

Evindar frowned at Ronin.  “What are _they_ doing here?”

The sire winced.  “Give us a moment, would you?”

The nurse nodded and withdrew, shutting the door behind him to give the couple some privacy.  Ronin sighed and looked at his mate pleadingly.  “I told them you were having the baby, Evin.  They knew you were expecting and I just couldn’t in good conscience leave them out of it.  They’re our son’s _grandparents_.  They should be a part of his life, regardless of your lingering resentment toward them.”

"I don’t _want_ them to be a part of this child’s life.”  Evindar instinctively cradled his tiny son closer, as if trying to shield him from some menace only he could see.  “Those… _people_ …traded me like livestock.  _My_ desires didn’t matter at all to them.  I’ve forgiven _you_ , but I can’t forgive _them_.”

"Evin, you need to remember that your parents are from an older generation.  It was common for lashran parents to set up their offspring with mates they believed to be ideal for them, back when Yeriden and Vinex were your age—even in Rhuidhim.  While it’s true that most lashran were allowed to make the final choice in mates, it’s _always_ been a common tradition for the parents to seek out the best potential partners for their children.  You could have refused, you know.”

"Not while the law agreed with my parents," reminded Evindar sullenly. 

"But there was no law keeping you from leaving Rhuidhim as a legal adult.  A lot of young Rhuidhim citizens escaped arranged Vashekna by traveling to Avras, Evindar.  You know this.  The arranged Vashekna act was only valid while you were in the country, and parents couldn’t legally prevent sons eighteen and over from exercising their right to travel.  You had the loophole, Evin.  You just never took it."

Ronin tilted his head curiously and frowned, watching him with thoughtful green eyes.  “Come to think of it, why _didn’t_ you take that escape route?  My request for your bond would have amounted to nothing, if you had stayed in Avras when you went to visit your cousin.”

"I considered it, but I didn’t want the guilt of defying those who gave me life hanging over my head."  Evindar shrugged.  "Besides, the moment I would have set foot on Rhuidhim soil, it would have been active again and by law, my parents could have had me forcibly detained and bonded to you."

Ronin sighed, giving him a patiently tired look.  “Do you _really_ think I would have bonded with you if they had dragged you in chains to the altar, love?  I thought you understood by now that while I was enchanted and a little obsessed with you, I never thought of you as property.  I asked for your bond out of respect for your parents, but I wanted you to come to me willingly.”

"I know that," assured Evindar, feeling a little guilty.  "You proved that to me, Ronin.  _They’re_ the ones that threw tradition and obligation in my face.  _They_ coerced me, not you.”

Ronin nodded and looked down.  “I can’t dispute that.  You’re happy with me now though, aren’t you?”

"If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have just spent all night and half the morning giving birth to your son," answered the singer dryly.  He sobered when the doctor raised his eyes to meet his.  "Yes, I’m happy with you.  I love you deeply, Ronin.  I know I said some awful things to you while I was laboring, but I can admit that _I’m_ the one that started us on the path to parenthood.  I knowingly had sex with you multiple times whilst in a fertility cycle, without any birth control.  I wanted this baby, even if it was subconscious at first.”  

Like the sun coming out from behind a dark cloud, Ronin’s handsome smile lit up the room.  He leaned over Evindar and kissed him lingeringly on the lips, before giving their son a brief kiss on the crown of his fuzzy blond head. 

"Then if you’re happy and you know we’re meant to be together," reasoned Ronin, "was it so terrible for your parents to set us up?  I know you felt trapped and they didn’t give you much of a choice at first, but think of it this way: we wouldn’t be together and we wouldn’t have this beautiful little son right now, if they hadn’t done it.  Can you consider the possibility that _maybe_ , just maybe, the ancestors were working through your parents to bring us together?”

Evindar reluctantly conceded that point.  “I suppose it’s possible.  Still, I can’t forgive them for disrespecting my rights and my desires.” 

Ronin heaved another sigh.  “All right…let me go and talk to them.”

* * *

 

"I’m sorry, but he doesn’t want to see you."  Ronin tried to break the news to Evindar’s parents gently, but there was just no way to do that.  How did one politely tell someone that their own son wanted nothing to do with them and didn’t want them near their grandchild?

Yeriden looked at his mate with distressed gray eyes.  Like Evindar, he was a gorgeous lifebearer and he was slightly taller than average.  “He _still_ resents us, after all this time?”  His long copper hair swayed over his hips as he shook his head.  “I just don’t understand!”

Vinex put an arm around his mate and ran the fingers of his free hand through his short-trimmed silver hair.  His blue-green eyes were just as troubled as his mate’s as he regarded Ronin.  “He can’t _seriously_ be considering keeping us away from our own grandchild.”

Yeriden looked as though he was on the verge of tears—a rare thing for the normally stoic lifebearer.  “Well, I suppose this answers the question of how deeply his anger runs.  This is positively the cruelest thing anyone has ever done to me, denying me the right to even look at my own grandson.”

Ronin felt wretched.  He fully understood Evindar’s point of view and he didn’t blame him, but he also felt sympathy for his parents.  They were his age, after all, and he understood their way of thinking better than he understood their son’s. 

"Listen, he’s exhausted from childbirth, his hormones are fluctuating and he’s trying to adjust to being a new father.  Give me time to wear him down.  After he’s had some rest, he may be more reasonable."

The couple looked at one another in a heartbroken manner and Vinex sighed.  “Since we can’t force our way in there, I suppose it will have to do.”

"Please, tell him we love him," murmured Yeriden huskily.  "We only did what any good parents would have done in our place."

Ronin sighed, knowing they both believed that whole-heartedly.  “Evindar’s generation doesn’t see it that way, I’m afraid.  We all need to adjust to the times or we’ll get left behind.  Old traditions die hard.”

Vinex grumbled unhappily.  “Younglings, these days.  Well, congratulations, Dr. Adder.”  He stuck his hand out for Ronin to shake.  “I hope you can convince our son to put the past behind him, for the sake of his child, if nothing else.”

"I’ll do my best," promised Ronin.  He gave his father-in-law a brief hug and a pat on the back after shaking his sire-in-law’s hand.  "Don’t fret too much.  Evindar isn’t cruel and even if he doesn’t bend right away, I’m sure he’ll eventually waver."

Yeriden nodded wordlessly and the couple prepared to go.  Ronin stared after them and he decided to offer a suggestion to them.  “One last thing,” he called, prompting them to stop and turn to look at him.  “Evindar is still hurt over what he feels was coercion.  You might consider offering an apology to him.”

The couple looked at each other again, both frowning.  “An…apology?”  Yeriden said it like Ronin had just suggested he serenade a frothing bull.

The pediatrician smiled patiently.  “Try to see it from your son’s point of view.  He was legally bound to me without his full consent and he went along with it because he believed in honoring his parents.  I strongly believe that he loves you both very much, despite his protests otherwise.  In the interest of putting the past behind us and mending your relationship with him, please consider apologizing to your son.”

"You aren’t blameless in this supposed ‘coercion’, either," reminded Yeriden in wounded tones.

Ronin nodded in agreement.  “Of course, and I’ve already apologized to him.  We would have separated when they revised the law, if I hadn’t convinced him that I saw him as a partner, and not a possession.  I humbly threw myself at his mercy, in fact.  It worked for me and it can work for you.  Evindar is surprisingly forgiving, when someone is willing to admit they did wrong by him and apologize for it.  Just consider it.”

They seemed to find the idea very strange, but neither of them outright refused to think about it.  Ronin found that heartening and he watched them go with a sigh.  He started to turn around and go back in to watch his mate finish feeding their son, but another idea came to him when he heard Zevian’s voice speaking from down the hall in the waiting room. 

* * *

 

"I’m sure they’ll let you hold the baby for a little while," Zevian promised his lover with amusement as word got around that the Adder baby was finally born.  Evindar’s parents gave him the details as they went to leave and while he noticed something was off about the two of them, Zevian didn’t say anything.  What happened in their family was none of his business, unless one of them came to him and made it so. 

Azurel was so excited about it—much more excited than Orindel, to Zevian’s disconcertion.  He’d vaguely hoped that Evindar’s pregnancy and the resulting baby would influence Orin in a positive way and give Zevian a greater chance at becoming a grandfather, but so far Orindel only expressed sympathy for Evindar and horror at the thought of going through childbirth himself.

"I wouldn’t want to impose," Azurel said softly, biting his lip as he looked toward the doors leading into the private birthing wing.  "I’m not sure I would be eager to hand my newborn over to a stranger, if it were me."

"Relax," advised Zevian, rubbing the dancer’s shoulder.  "Evin’s my godson and he knows I wouldn’t ask him to hand over his kid to anyone that might drop him or hurt him.  I’ll put in a word for you when I go in to visit him."

 Azurel laid his head on his shoulder.  “May I ask you something?”

"Go for it."

The lifebearer tilted his head and looked up at Zevian through the veil of his black-tipped bangs.  “How did Evindar become your godson?  Are your families related?”

"Ah, _that_.”  Zevian glanced around.  “Evin has family in Zarn.  I got his uncle out of some trouble with the Undir family and his parents asked me to be his godfather as a ‘thank you’.  I suspect it also had a little something to do with protection, since they liked to take trips to visit Zarn a lot.  Orindel took a liking to him right away.  I think he was only about ten when they first met, and Evindar had just turned eighteen.  Sometime along the way, Orin took up playing the bass and Evindar got his music career started around the time he finished highschool.  They had the band formed by the time Orin was twenty and the rest is history.”

"Hmm, I wonder if either of them realized they’d get this popular," mused the dancer.  "I wish I had a decent singing voice."

Zevian put an arm around him and gave him a squeeze.  “What you don’t have in vocals, you _more_ than make up for in dance moves.  You sing with this body of yours, beautiful.”

Azurel grinned and lifted his head from the guild lord’s shoulder.  He traced Zevian’s outer ear with a fingertip, toying with the hoops and studs piercing it and drawing a soft purr of pleasure from the sire.  “When we go back to our hotel room, I’ll give you a dance,” promised the lifebearer in a whisper.

Zevian returned his grin and waggled his eyebrows at him.  “I’ll hold you to that.”  He was about to say something else flirtatious, when he saw Evindar’s mate approaching from the hallway.  He gently eased his companion away and stood up to greet Ronin, offering his hand for a congratulatory shake.

"Look at the new Dad," said Zevian with a smile.  "I’ll bet you were never so happy to look so worn out."

"Absolutely," laughed Ronin.  "Am I wearing a matching pair of luggage under my eyes?"

Zevian shrugged.  “It’s not so bad.  Have you met my companion Azurel yet?”  He nodded at the lifebearer, who stood up and smiled at the doctor, adding his soft congratulations to Zevian’s.

Ronin looked at the dancer with open admiration.  “No, I haven’t…and I wonder how I could have overlooked him when I stepped out to announce the progress to you all last night.  The pleasure’s all mine.”

"You were caught up in first-time parent anxiety," excused Zevian with a smirk as Ronin shook his lover’s hand.  "So, how are Evin and your little bundle of joy holding up?"

"Evindar is tired, but recovering nicely," answered Ronin.  "But I wanted to ask you for a favor, Mr. Saber.  Could we have a word in private, please?"

Wondering if Ronin somehow got himself into legal trouble, Zevian frowned and nodded.  “Of course.”  He turned to his lover and gave him a kiss on the cheek.  “Excuse us for a minute, baby.”

* * *

 

"I don’t know about you," Evindar said conversationally to his new son, "but I’m glad that ordeal is finished.  Don’t expect a little brother anytime soon, okay?"

The baby cooed as though in agreement and Evindar smiled at him, amazed that he could love something this much, this soon.  “And I thought people exaggerated about falling ‘instantly in love’ with your child, the moment you see him.  You sure showed me, didn’t you?”

Tory yawned.

Evindar immediately reacted to the contagious effect of such a gesture, his mouth opening wide despite his effort to fight it.  “I agree,” he said around the yawn.  “We can have our sleep-time soon.”

The door open and Evindar looked up to see Zevian Saber striding in, looking dashing as usual in an ensemble of gray, black and white.  “There he is,” greeted the guild lord with a toothy smile.  “Let’s see this little niblet you’ve got here, kiddo.” 

He stopped at the bed and leaned over to examine little Tory, who had been ready to drift off to sleep just a moment ago, but now stared up at the newcomer curiously.  “Just as I thought,” remarked Zevian sagely.  “That’s one beautiful kid you made.  He has your eyes, Evindar.”

Evindar smiled a little bashfully at the sire, embarrassed to be caught without the chance to run a brush through his disheveled hair.  “Mr. Saber, I’m so glad you could come.  Can you just pretend you didn’t see me looking so awful?”

Zevian looked up from the blond, gray-violet eyed infant and frowned at the singer.  “What are you talking about?  You look great.  Tired, but gorgeous all the same.”

Evindar lowered his gaze and that damnable blush rose in his cheeks.  “If you say so, sir.”  He looked up at Ronin and he frowned when the doctor winked at him and shut the door, leaving him alone in the room with Zevian.  “Where is he going?”

Zevian glanced over his shoulder at the door before shrugging and answering.  “Maybe to get something to snack on or talk to your other visitors.  Don’t worry about that.  I want to talk to you about something.”

"Like what?" Evindar was too tired to play a guessing game.

Zevian gazed at him seriously.  “Your parents.”

The singer sighed and looked away.  “There’s nothing to talk about, Mr. Saber.”

"I disagree," said Zevian firmly, "but you don’t have to do any talking.  All I want you to do is listen to what I’ve got to say and if you _still_ feel like you need to push Vinex and Yeriden out of your life forever, well I can’t stop you.  Your mate strikes me as the sort that’ll stick by you no matter what you decide, so you’re the one with all the power, here.  How about it?”

Evindar couldn’t think of any good reason to refuse the request.  He sighed and looked at the handsome gangster, admiring his foreign, sexy countenance.  “Okay, I’ll listen.”

"Good."  Zevian smiled at the baby and held his hands out.  "May I?"

The singer hesitated for just a moment before nodding and handing his son over to him.  He doubted that Zevian would try and take the baby hostage to force his cooperation.  Zevian cradled the tiny lashran with practiced ease, using only one arm and supporting the head with his palm and long fingers.

"You’re very good at that," observed Evindar as Tory’s little whimpers in response to being traded died down quickly.  The baby’s eyes immediately drifted shut and he seemed quite comfortable in Zevian’s custody.

Zevian chuckled and spoke in a low voice, looking down at the sleepy infant he cradled against his chest.  “When Orindel was born, I was afraid to hold him like this.  Hell, I was afraid to even _touch_ him much, at first.  I thought I would drop him, or squeeze him too hard.”  He traced the infant’s bow-shaped lips and chubby cheeks with the fingertips of his free hand.  “Lashran newborns are so bloody tiny…and fragile.”

Evindar’s brows lifted.  “You seem so confident with babies now.”

Zevian’s aqua gaze was amused as it met Evindar’s.  “You think so?  It took practice.  Lots and lots of it.  Urahis was so patient with me.  He encouraged me, and he helped me get over myself and be a better parent.  I’m going to let you in on a little secret other parents are afraid to admit, kid.”

"What secret is that?"  Evindar squirmed and he adjusted the bed to help him sit up a little more.

"You’re going to screw up.  A lot.  Every parent does, sooner or later.  It comes with the territory.  There’s _no such thing_ as a perfect parent and anybody that says otherwise is full of…” he glanced down at the infant and altered the end of his sentence.  “…crap.  You’re going to be responsible for this little guy until he’s at least eighteen, and maybe for a while after that, depending on the economy and job situation here when he’s a legal adult.  Somewhere along the way between now and when he becomes a man, you’re going to make a call he’s not going to like—probably more than once.  You’ll argue with him.  You’ll probably hear him tell you he hates you a few times, too.  That usually happens when they don’t get their way and even the best behaved kids can be little demons when that happens.”

Evindar smirked, but his gut began to twist with dread as he absorbed what Zevian was saying.  “I’m prepared for the ‘I hate you’s’.  I don’t know anybody that didn’t say it to their parents at least once, growing up.  How many of those did you get from Orin?”

Zevian rolled his eyes.  “Gods, I couldn’t even estimate.”

Evindar chuckled.  “That bad, eh?”

"You know my son," answered the mafia lord with a smirk of his own.  "We’ve had plenty of falling outs."

"I’ll bet."  Evindar sighed and looked at his son, nestled so securely in Zevian’s hold.  "So, why did you tell me all of that, Mr. Saber?  If you think I’m not scared enough about being a new parent, I can assure you that you’re mistaken."

"I didn’t tell you any of that to scare you," assured Zevian.  His gaze held Evindar’s.  "I told you as a reminder that parents can and _will_ make mistakes.  Including yours.”

Not ready to give in, Evindar swallowed and stubbornly held his ground.  ”Did you try to give your son away to a sire without his consent?”

"Almost."

Evindar ogled at him.  “ _You_?  I don’t believe it.”

"That’s too bad," answered Zevian with a sigh, "because it’s true.  One of the lesser guild lords hinted that he’d be interested in pledging his family to mine if I considered giving him Orindel’s bond.  I’m ashamed to admit that I actually considered it."

"Mr. Saber!"  It was the first time Evindar could actually say he was disappointed in the man, though in truth, Zevian probably did far worse things on a regular basis—things that resulted in corpses and missing persons.

Zevian chuckled as the baby stirred and whimpered a protest at Evindar’s scandalized utterance.  He lifted Tory to his shoulder and laid him against it, gently patting his back until he calmed down.  “Like I said; parents make mistakes.  There are a lot of things I did in the course of raising my kid that I wish I had done differently.  I’ll bet your folks would say the same thing, if they could manage to be honest enough with themselves.” 

Zevian eased the baby away from his shoulder, smiled at him and offered him back to his father.  As Evindar took his son carefully, the guild lord finished speaking, and his words struck a chord that the singer couldn’t deny.

"No matter how many times you fight with this kid, how many times he says he hates you or how many times you want to have a mute button installed into his mouth, one thing is always going to stay constant.  You’re going to love him until the day you die, Evindar."

He wasn’t an emotional lifebearer by far, but the past year had been so full of hardships for him and he was tired and hormonal, to boot.  Evindar’s eyes filled with tears and his son’s little face blurred in his vision.  He nodded silently in agreement with Zevian’s statement, not trusting himself to speak.

"Just like your parents love you," finished Zevian. 

Evindar shut his eyes and a tear escaped.  He felt the sire’s calloused thumb brush against his cheek to wipe it away.  “Evin,” murmured the guild lord, “I’m not defending their decision to pressure you into bonding with your man.  I don’t think I need to tell you it all worked out for you both in the end.  I’m only saying that they are just as lashran as you, and they aren’t perfect.  You can push them away all you want, but you’ll never stop being their son and they’ll never stop loving you.”

Zevian leaned toward him and kissed him on the crown of his head, rubbing his back gently.  “Just think about it, kid—if for no other reason than your son’s right to have his surviving grandparents in his life.  You’re going to have to tell him about them eventually, no matter what you decide.”

 Evindar cradled his son and sniffed, struggling to compose himself.  “I…I’ll think about it, Mr. Saber.  That’s all I can promise.”

"That’s all I can ask," assured the sire.  "Here." 

Evindar looked up to find the man offering him a tissue from the nightstand.  He sniffed and took it, wiping his eyes self-consciously as he cradled his son with one arm.  “Thank you.”

"That’s all right.  Do you think you’re up to a visit from the others, or do you need some time alone?"

"I’ll be okay in a minute," insisted Evindar.  Embarrassed by his little breakdown, he gave the older man an apologetic look.  "I think I’ve cried more times this year than I have my in my entire life."

Zevian gave him a wink.  “Don’t sweat it.  Everyone has limits, kid.”

* * *

 

Shade and Lorik made their visit brief; as they were worn out and they could tell that Evindar and Ronin were, too.  They stopped in long enough to congratulate the happy couple, see the baby and take a couple of pictures.  They snuck out wearing bike leathers, their faces hidden by helmets to toss the press off their scent.  Orindel lingered behind after his mate gave his heartfelt congratulations and went home to get some rest.  He stood by his sire and watched as Azurel finally got his chance to hold the newborn. 

"Like this?" asked Azurel as Ronin gently laid him in his arms.

“ _Exactly_ like that,” approved the doctor with a smile.  “You’ve got it.”

Azurel sighed with relief and he gave Evindar a smile that promised he’d sooner jump into a blazing fire than drop the precious infant.  “Hello, tiny thing,” he whispered to the child, smiling with such wonder and joy, it lit up his whole face.

Zevian watched with a smile, enjoying the sight of his lover looking so…so…

Azurel laughed when the baby burped and he looked up at Zevian with his heart in his eyes. The guild lord swallowed as his amusement faded into a horrible feeling of premonition. 

"Oh, shit," he muttered, recognizing that look on Azurel’s beautiful face. 

Urahis had worn that _exact same look_ , the first time he held a baby after they committed to each other.  Azurel’s next words confirmed Zevian’s fears.  “Oh, Zev…I _want_ one!”

Beside him, Orindel snorted.  The bassist looked up at him with a cheeky smirk on his face.  “Sucks to be pressured to have kids, doesn’t it, Dad?”

Zevian wasn’t amused.  “Shut it, ragmuffin.”

* * *

 

The next morning, Vinex and Yeriden returned to the hospital and got their first look at their new grandchild.  Evindar regarded them warily as they approached his bedside with smiles on their faces.

"Precious beyond words," sighed his father sincerely.  "May I hold him, Evin?"

The singer bit his lip and reluctantly handed his son over, giving Ronin a look that suggested he was afraid they would run off with the baby.  Yeriden cradled the child and rocked him gently, murmuring softly to him while his mate looked on with a broad grin.  The older lifebearer looked up after a moment and his gaze settled on Evindar.

"Thank you for letting us be a part of his life, Evindar.  I had no idea you felt as strongly as you did, when we arranged your bond with Doctor Adder."

"This comes with certain conditions," Evindar said, choosing not to go into the conversation again.  Their apology to him had just _barely_ been enough to convince him to give them a chance. 

"Name them, son," answered Vinex.  "Your father and I are prepared to do whatever we can to earn your trust back."

"I understand that it was common in your day for lashran to let their parents choose their mates for them, most of the time," he began, "And I can even admit that I share some of the blame for letting you both intimidate me and going along with it, but it’s a different world now, and you need to wake up to it.  You can have supervised visitation with Tory to start out.  When I feel more comfortable leaving him alone with you, I may allow him to come and stay with you on weekends.  If I _ever_ hear either of you even _suggest_ arranged Vashekna, or if I _ever_ find out you’re trying to suppress his creativity or discourage his personal growth, the deal is off.”

The older lashran looked at each other with faint perplexity.

"Is that too difficult for you?" pressed Evindar, "because I don’t mind telling you to leave this room right now, if you can’t agree."

"Of _course_ we’ll agree to your terms, son,” soothed Yeriden hastily, obviously taking the threat seriously.  “It’s just that…where does this leave us in terms of discipline?  When he misbehaves, what can we do to correct him that won’t upset you?”

Evindar relaxed a little and he looked to Ronin.  “We’ve agreed to avoid spankings, unless all other options fail to get through to him.  Open palm, enough force to sting but not bruise, and no more than three swats.  Refusing to eat his veggies isn’t a spank-worthy crime, if you need an example.  If he’s ever staying with you and you find our methods unreasonable, you can always call us to come and pick him up.  I won’t have my son yelled at or otherwise punished for something as trivial as setting foot on the carpet of your trophy room, Sire.  If you want him to come for visits, you’ll just have to lock the room up or accept the fact that carpets are for people to walk on.”

They looked a bit disconcerted, having raised Evindar and his older brother under strict, conservative rules.  Ronin raised a brow at Vinex when he looked as though he might criticize their disciplinary plans, and the older sire got the message and sighed, nodding.

"He’s your child, and you have the right to raise him as you wish.  You’ve given us little choice but to accept your terms, Evindar."

The singer was satisfied with that and he resumed eating his light breakfast, keeping one eye on his parents as they familiarized themselves with Tory.

* * *

 

-To be continued


	18. Chapter 18

* * *

Having attuned himself to Zevian’s body language and mannerisms during his time as his lover, it didn’t escape Azurel’s notice that the sire was behaving differently since they visited the Adders at the hospital and saw the baby.  At first, he blew it off as travel fatigue.  They returned home after spending one more night in Rhuidhim and having a nice dinner with Orindel and his mate Alistair.  After returning to Valkyrie Falls, they showed off photos they had taken of the proud new parents and their child, though the music tabloids were already booming with the news.  Things more or less resumed as they were, with the primary focus on finding and capturing Tsyther. 

Zevian’s body was with him for certain, but his mind seemed to be far away.  Azurel was also getting the impression that the guild lord was wary of something, but he couldn’t understand what that “something” was, until the third night after their return to headquarters. 

Azurel learned in a rather painful way that he’d managed to scare his lover off the path of falling for him.

* * *

 

They lay exhausted after an hour of thorough, vigorous sex, and Azurel smiled blissfully up at the ceiling.  There was definitely something to be said for taking an older, more experienced sire as a lover.  Zevian did things to him that _no_ sire had ever done before, let alone anyone close to his own age.  The man’s generosity with his hands, tongue and lips had already sent Azurel into a fertility cycle once before.  Combined with the skillful hip action he used when he fucked him, there was little doubt in the lifebearer’s mind that Zevian Saber could get him pregnant easily, if they ever decided to travel that route.

Thinking of the possibility made him think of the time they had spent away together in Rhuidhim, and the adorable little baby he’d held in his hands.  Azurel smiled and turned onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow.  He looked down at his sated lover, admiring the way the sheen of drying perspiration on Zevian’s skin made it glow in the lamplight.  He traced the sire’s pectorals and abdominal muscles with his fingertips, trying not to notice his distance.

"That baby was so precious," remarked Azurel.  He lowered his head to Zevian’s chest and he kissed the center of it, sighing.  "Don’t you think, Zev?"

"Mmm," was the response.

Azurel lifted his head from the sire’s broad chest and frowned at him.  “What does; ‘mmm’ mean?”

Zevian shrugged and put one hand behind his head, his aqua gaze on the ceiling, rather than on Azurel.  “Babies are cute, sure.  They’re also a lot of responsibility—not to mention loud and messy.”

Azurel chuckled.  “True, but don’t you think the rewards of nurturing one are worth the noise and the mess?  You raised one, after all.”

Zevian looked at him, and he didn’t smile.  “Yes, I raised one.  Alone.  I had to take a crash course in parenting, because the person that knew all of the important stuff about taking care of Orindel was gone.  I’ve _done_ my job, Azurel.  I somehow got my son to adulthood alive and thank _fuck_ he got the hell out of Zarn as soon as he finished his education.”

Azurel swallowed.  “I…didn’t mean to upset you, Zevian.  I just…you were so good with that baby, and you seemed to enjoy holding him.  I thought…never mind.”

Zevian sighed and ran his fingers through Azurel’s thick hair.  “Hey, I’m stressed.  I’ve been fighting off the damned spirit voices since we left Rhuidhim and I guess I panicked a little when I saw how excited you got, holding that baby.”

Azurel relaxed a little and he forced a smile.  “Of course.  There’s so much happening, it’s no wonder you’re tense.  I didn’t mean to make you feel pressured.”

Zevian smiled back and he drew him closer.  “Come here, gorgeous.”

Azurel compliantly snuggled up to him and laid his head on his chest.

"When this is all over and I’ve finished dealing with your old keeper, we’ll go on a holiday together," Zevian promised with a sigh.  "A nice, long holiday.  Somewhere in the tropics, where you can bask in the sun and I can rub lotion all over you."

"I’d like that," agreed Azurel, though as Zevian turned out the light, he wasn’t smiling.  Zevian’s message came through loud and clear.  He’d already done the parenting bit and he wasn’t interested in doing it again.

* * *

 

_Late the next morning, just before lunchtime:_

"Hi little man," Idrisar smiled as he looked at the photo of his grandchildren on his desk and spoke into his phone.  "It’s Grandfather."

"Hi, Granddad," answered Seth, sounding delighted.  "Dad said you weren’t going to call until the weekend."

Idrisar sighed.  “I wasn’t, but I wanted to hear your voice.”  Seeing the photos Zevian and Azurel brought back of the Adder baby had made him nostalgic.  He called his other two grandsons yesterday, just to listen to them talk.

"Want to hear about my baseball game yesterday?" Seth offered hopefully.

"I’d love to hear about it," enthused Idrisar.  "So, did your team win?"

"We sure did!  By twenty points.  I hit a home run!"

Idrisar chuckled.  “Congratulations.  I’ll bet your parents were thrilled.”

"Well, Father was but you know Sire doesn’t like baseball too much."

The agent grimaced.  No, of course Bowen didn’t like baseball.  It was, after all, a human sport.  His fears that Bowen was taking his racial pride too far were growing with each day, and now there was a chance he could be dragging his son into it.

"But do _you_ like baseball?” Idrisar pressed, careful not to try and lead his grandson’s thoughts.

"Oh yeah," replied Seth enthusiastically, "it’s a lot of fun!"

"Good."  Idrisar smiled again.  "You just make sure you let your Dad know how much you enjoy it."

Idrisar’s secretary interrupted through the intercom speaker.  “Agent Blackbird, one of our Witness Protection residents wants to speak with you.  Shall I send him in?”

Thinking it was Zevian with some tidbit of information concerning Sandman, Idrisar put aside his annoyance.  “Yes, please send him in.” 

To his grandson, he apologized.  “I’m sorry Seth, but I’m going to have to cut this phone conversation short.”

"Why, what’s going on?" demanded the nine-year-old.

Idrisar smiled patiently, easily imagining the boy standing there with a baseball in one hand and a cap jammed over his blond head.  “It’s work related, Seth.  I have to protect this city, you know that.”

"Okay.  Promise you’ll call again on the weekend?"

"Cross my heart," vowed Idrisar.  "Be a good boy for your parents, okay?  I love you."

"Love you too, Granddad.  Goodbye."

Idrisar ended the call just as the door to his office opened.  He wasn’t expecting to see Azurel walk through it and he tilted his head in confusion and frowned at the younger lifebearer.  Azurel was wearing a pair of snug white slacks, black, knee-high boots and a purple-embroidered black button up shirt.  The silver-link belt around his waist caught the light as he walked into the office and his eyes were downcast.  His hair was tucked behind his ears, revealing the piercings and cuffs adorning the curve of them.  He looked very young to Idrisar at that moment…and a bit lost.

"Azurel."  Idrisar stood up and gestured at the chairs on the other side of his desk.  "Please, sit down.  What can I do for you?"

The younger man raised his crimson eyes off the floor and gazed at Idrisar pensively from beneath feathered, black-tipped fringe.  His kohl-lined eyes seemed sad about something.

"I…need your advice," Azurel murmured, "about a personal matter.  I understand if you don’t have the time.  I know you have more important things to do than give me life pointers, but I really don’t know what to do."

Idrisar glanced at the clock.  “I have some time to spare.  Tell me what the problem is.”

* * *

 

Azurel didn’t really know where to begin.  All he knew was that Idrisar had insight when it came to Zevian, and he was level-headed, compassionate, smart and brave.  Though he dressed rather plain and downplayed his looks, the agent was someone that Azurel hoped to become more like, as he matured.  He took his seat and cleared his throat softly, trying to decide how he should start the conversation. 

The minutes ticked by with Idrisar watching and waiting patiently.  Azurel noticed that he wasn’t wearing his glasses today and he had on a dark blue singlet under a black blazer.  It looked good on him.  Idrisar might not glam himself up, but he knew how to make his choice of attire work well for him.  He was definitely cute and kind of sexy in a quiet, bookish way.  No wonder Zevian liked him.

Thinking of Zevian reminded Azurel of why he’d come for Idrisar’s advice in the first place.  “I think I scared Zevian,” he finally blurted.

Idrisar’s mask of stoicism slipped, revealing a hint of confusion.  “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”

"Um…well…" the dancer frowned in thought, trying to piece together his concerns into a coherent explanation.  "When we were in Rhuidhim, I freaked him out.  They let me hold the baby after it was born, you know?  Anyway, I told him I wanted one and I think he might have taken it a little too literally…like: ‘Come here and give me your sperm right now’, literally."

Idrisar’s sensitive looking lips twitched and he quickly pinched them.  His voice was a touch uneven as he responded.  “I…see.”

"He’s been distant ever since," Azurel went on in a rush, spreading his hands.  "And he got defensive when I mentioned the baby last night.  All I did was mention how cute it was, and he gave me this whole speech about how he’s already done his childrearing and he’s done with it.  I feel like I have to walk on eggshells around him now.  I just thought maybe you could give me some advice.  I need to fix this, and I don’t know how."

Idrisar sobered and thought about the situation for a moment, before answering.  His pale blue gaze was earnest on the younger man as he spoke.  “Do you want my honest opinion, Azurel?  Beware, you may not like it.”

"I don’t like anything about this," sighed the dancer.  "Please, give me your honest opinion."

Idrisar sighed and sat back in his chair, steepling his fingertips together as he gazed at the younger lashran.  “Do you _want_ children someday, Azurel?”

He tried to be blasé about it, and he shrugged.  “Well, _some_ day.  I know I’m too young to be worrying about that right now.  I can wait.”

Idrisar smiled in a melancholy way that Azurel didn’t like one bit.  He shook his head, his eyes never leaving the dancer’s face.  “You can tell yourself you can wait, if it makes you feel better.  You can pretend you can wait for him to come around, but if you know you want children some day, it’s going to wear on you.  No matter how much you love him, you may be better off letting him go, Azurel.”

Azurel felt his throat tighten.  “I can’t.  Don’t you understand how much he means to me?  I thought I would _never_ have him this way, and now that I do…I just can’t.”

Idrisar took a deep breath and nodded, lowering his eyes.  “I understand.  I wish I could promise you that he’ll change his ways for you, that love will make him reconsider.  It would be a lie, though.  Zevian is of an older generation, and he _has_ already raised a family—in the most painful, difficult way one can do so.”

"But, I would do all of the childrearing," insisted Azurel desperately.  "I wouldn’t ask him to do more than he was willing to do, and it isn’t like I want to start having kids right away!"

The older lifebearer’s gaze was sympathetic on him and Idrisar brushed aside his dark bangs and sighed, before responding.  “Azurel, that may not matter to him.  You have to understand that Zevian’s past the stage where you’re at right now.  This is the disadvantage to being with someone more than a century apart from you in age.  For your own good, you need to accept the possibility that he’ll never want children with you…and accept it as though it’s fact, to save yourself a lot of grief and pain.”

Azurel bit his lip.  His heart ached, but he wasn’t willing to give up Zevian.  “Then I suppose I’ll have to live without having children of my own.”

Idrisar stared at him, measuring him with his eyes.  “Are you sure about that?”  He got out of his chair and circled around to the other side of the desk, coming up behind the dancer’s chair.  He placed his hands on Azurel’s slumping shoulders and squeezed them supportively. 

"Azurel, you owe it to yourself to give this some serious thought.  You may end up resenting Zevian eventually, no matter how much you love him now."

In his heart of hearts, Azurel knew Idrisar was right.  “But what if I throw this away and find out years later that he had a kid with someone else?  I couldn’t bear that.”

Idrisar nodded in sympathy.  “I think that’s a legitimate concern.”

Azurel twisted in his seat and looked up at the older man.  “What would _you_ do, if you were me?”

Idrisar chuckled.  “Me?  I would probably give him an ultimatum.  I’d remind him that it’s normal and perfectly reasonable for a lifebearer in the most fertile years of his life to think about having babies with a virile, strong sire he’s in love with.  I’d inform him that just because I think of these things now doesn’t mean I’m interested in doing them right now, and I’d make sure he understands that he has a short grace period to be an intransigent jackass about it before my patience runs out and I hop the fence to greener pastures.” 

Idrisar smirked at him.  “But, that’s just me.”

Azurel grinned up at him.  “Doesn’t that go against the philosophy that you can’t make someone change?”

"Not at all," assured the agent.  "Telling him to get over himself and stop projecting motives onto you isn’t the same as telling him to get you pregnant or else.  If I wanted to be with someone as much as you want to be with Zevian, I would probably make sure he knew children aren’t an _immediate_ need, without agreeing never to have them at all.  It leaves a bit more wiggle room and gives you more time to decide if it’s really worth staying with him or not.”

"I like that," enthused Azurel, relaxing.  Maybe he didn’t have to choose between Zevian and a family right away, after all. 

Idrisar’s smile was tempered with concern.  “It’s a temporary solution, Azurel.  You’re young and you have plenty of time to start a family, but your heart won’t thank you for it if you linger in a relationship you know can’t last.  That’s the best advice I can give you.”

Azurel closed his eyes and nodded.  “It _is_ good advice—just as I asked for.  Thank you, Agent Blackbird.  I’ll think about everything you’ve said.”

Idrisar watched him for a moment, and then he surprised Azurel with an offer.  “You know, I really don’t have much else going on today.  I’ve finished all of my paperwork and gone through my inspections.  There is an arts and crafts festival in the city square over the week.  If you feel up to it, I could take a half-day off and we could go there together.  It might clear your head a bit and I’ve been meaning to dress up the walls of my guest room with a new painting or two.”

Azurel brightened at the thought.  “Really?  I would really enjoy that!”

Idrisar smiled at him.  “Then it’s settled.  I’ll just tie up some loose ends and we can get out of here.”

* * *

 

 Zevian came out of the shower to find his lover checking his wallet, apparently ready to go out somewhere.  He paused in towel-drying his hair.  “Where are you getting ready to go?”

"Out," answered Azurel shortly.  He put his wallet away and selected a light jacket to wear, in case a chill clung to the spring air. 

"Okay."  Zevian tried again.  "Where are you going out _to_ , and have you told Therril or Johnny?”

Azurel looked at him then, and Zevian couldn’t help but notice the frustration in his ruby eyes.  “I’m going to the city square for the afternoon.  There’s an arts and crafts festival and I want to see if there are any Avran pieces that would go good in my room.  No, I haven’t told either of the men where I’m going.”

Childishly perhaps, Zevian was a little hurt that Azurel hadn’t asked him to come along—even though he had long-distance business with Vylden and some of his partners to attend today.  “We’ve been through this, flower.  I don’t want you going out without an armed escort.  I’ll call the boys to go with you.” 

He strode over to the table to get his phone, but Azurel intercepted him.  “Just once, I’d like to go out without a thug hanging over my shoulder.”

Zevian raised a brow.  “’ _Thug’_?  I didn’t know you thought of them that way.”

Azurel sighed.  “For all intents and purposes, that’s what they are, isn’t it?  Johnny and Therril are great guys, but it’s pretty obvious to everyone what line of work they’re in and they scare off any interesting people I might meet.  The last time I went to a restaurant with Therril, the waiter was too scared to come and take our order!  The manager had to do it.”

Zevian chuckled.  It was so easy to forget sometimes how intimidating the scarred sire could be to other people.  “Therril wouldn’t hurt anyone, unless they tried to hurt you first.  Work around it, Azurel.  I’m not risking your safety.”

"You aren’t," insisted the lifebearer.  "I won’t be alone.  Agent Blackbird is going with me.  He’s the one that invited me."

"Oh.  Well, that changes everything."  Though Zevian was surprised to hear that someone as no-nonsense as Idrisar was actually indulging himself with time off for something like this, he felt better knowing he’d be there with Azurel. 

"Glad you approve.  See you later, Zev." 

Zevian caught his arm as the lifebearer started to turn away.  “Hold up,” he demanded, frowning.  “What’s going on, Azurel?”

"Going on?" the younger man looked convincingly ignorant. 

"Yeah, and don’t be coy," responded Zevian with a sigh. "I know that passive-aggressive body language, kid.  You’re giving me the cold shoulder.  Urahis used to do it all the time when he was pissed off with me but didn’t want a confrontation.  So, tell me what I did and let me try to fix it."

Azurel’s cold expression softened and he heaved a sigh.  “You really want to know?”

"I asked, didn’t I?"  Zevian really wasn’t in the mood to deal with a resentful lifebearer…not with everything else he was dealing with.  "If something’s bothering you, get it out into the open.  Don’t make me play a guessing game."

Azurel’s ruby eyes flashed, looking almost demonic for a moment as they lit up from within.  “Fine, I’ll tell you.  You think _I’m_ giving _you_ the cold shoulder?  Well, you started it.”

Zevian frowned, though he was starting to get the uncomfortable feeling that he knew what this was about.  “You’ve got to give me more than that, gorgeous.  How have I been giving you the cold shoulder?”

Azurel threw his hands up and gazed skyward.  “And he tells _me_ not to be coy.”  He looked at Zevian again, stepping closer to him and invading his personal space.  The guild lord found himself backing up a step, unused to seeing the normally accommodating and sweet young man so aggressive.

"I’m sorry if I scared you when I said I want a baby," Azurel said in a tight voice, "and I’m sorry if you can’t understand what impulsive reactions are.  Just because I blurted out the first thing that sprang to mind doesn’t mean I was going to jump you and immediately try to get pregnant, Zevian.  Yes, I’d like to have a family, some day, but I know I’m young and I have a lot of things to do before I try to become a parent.  I know you don’t want to do it all over again and I understand how hard you had it, raising your son alone."

Zevian sighed.  “Azurel…”

"Let me finish." 

The younger man’s tone warned that he was at the end of his rope, and Zevian tactfully went quiet and made an inviting gesture.  “Please, continue.”

"You’ve been holding me at arm’s length since I said that to you," Azurel went on.  "I haven’t _once_ mentioned the possibility of bonding with you, or even having children with you.  I know I can’t compete with Urahis and I don’t want to.  I want to earn _my own_ place in your heart and I wouldn’t want to exchange Vashekna bracelets with you until I knew I’d accomplished that, anyway.  You’re just going to have to accept that I’m a young lifebearer in the prime of my fertile years and you’re a hot, sexy man with great genetics that any sane lifebearer would be interested in reproducing with, got it?”

"Uh…"

"If it never occurred to you that I might find the idea of having your baby appealing, then you’re a…big idiot."

Zevian huffed a soft laugh.  “Okay, but—”

"It’s the law of nature for us to seek out the best potential sires for our future offspring," interrupted the lifebearer importantly, "and you can’t seriously blame me for fantasizing about it at times.  I know you don’t want kids and I know I might have to give you up some day, but until then, _you’re_ just going to have to deal with the fact that even though I respect your wishes, part of me will always hope you’ll change your mind.  If that’s too much for you, then just dump me now.”

The dancer was speaking half in Zarnian and half in Avran in his distress, but Zevian was able to follow his ranting well enough.  “I’m not going to dump you.  Look, just calm down.”

"I’m calm," insisted Azurel.  "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to meet up with Idrisar in the parking garage.  I hope you’ll think about what I’ve said to you and change your attitude towards me by the time I return."

Zevian stood helplessly, watching as Azurel turned on his heel and walked to the door.  He found his tongue just as the lifebearer opened it.  “Azurel.”

The dancer half-turned to look over his shoulder at him.

"While you’re there, if you see anything you think would look good in my house, feel free to charge it to my card.  The place could use an artist’s touch."

It was the best he could do under the circumstances to show the younger man he was trying to commit to him, trying to welcome him into his life.  Zevian had never been particularly skilled at sharing his feelings, so he compensated with romantic gestures and sharing his home.  Azurel seemed to pick up on what he was trying to do and some of the anger faded from his lovely eyes.  He clucked his tongue softly, his expression telling the sire he just didn’t know what he was going to _do_ with him.

"If you mean that, I’ll be sure to pick up some things," answered the lifebearer.

Zevian nodded.  “Good.”  He didn’t try to give the smaller man a kiss goodbye, sensing that he wasn’t in the right place for such a gesture, right now.  “Have fun, flower.”

As soon as he was gone, Zevian rubbed his forehead and groaned.  “The kid’s been taking pointers from Blackbird.  Why me?”

* * *

 

"I told him off," confessed Azurel moments later, when he caught up with Idrisar at the elevator and joined him inside.  His heart was pounding and his mouth was dry.  "I mean, I _really_ told him off!  I’ve _never_ spoken to Zevian that way before.  I’ve argued with him before, but never like _that_.  Gods, my knees are shaking.”

Idrisar pushed the button for the garage floor and eyed him with as little smile.  “And how did it feel?”

"Terrifying," answered the younger man with a laugh, "but exhilarating, too.  I didn’t like speaking to him that way, but I liked having him _listen_ to me, you know?  That was the first time I’ve ever felt like he really heard and respected what I had to say.”

Idrisar nodded in satisfaction.  “Good.  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with standing up for yourself and letting it be known that you won’t tolerate bullshit.  What did he say in response?”

"I didn’t really give him a chance to say much of anything," admitted Azurel, biting his lip, "but he definitely had a change of attitude, by the time I was finished with him.  I think I may have gotten through to him.  I was afraid he would break up with me."

"Even knuckleheads like Saber know when they have a good thing," assured the agent dryly.  "Let’s try to forget about this, for now."

Azurel agreed. 

* * *

 

Some time after Idrisar and Azurel left headquarters, Director Kent was having a package opened that had arrived with Haden’s name on it.  To his annoyance, nobody had thought to detain the delivery boy and question him and now he had people in fire resistant, armored suites opening the box in a contained room.  The agents set to the task were part of the bomb squad, trained to deal with disarming not only explosives, but viral weapons as well.  Haden and Glaive looked on with both the directors through the reinforced glass observation window as the team prepared to carefully open it.

"And you’re _sure_ you weren’t expecting any incoming packages?” pressed Kent again.  “Nothing from your family or friends?”

Haden shook his head and stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans.  “My sister in Cothmere sends me holiday care packages with pictures of her family every year, but it’s _way_ too early for that and her custom stamp wasn’t on it.  That’s about the only mail I ever expect to get from anyone I knew before I joined the Order, sir.”

"And there was no return address," Ammiteo reminded.  "It’s better to play it safe.  Agent Glaive, are you picking up anything with your spirit singing senses?"

Glaive stared through the clear barrier at the box, narrowing his eyes.  “No, nothing.”

Haden started to relax.  “Then maybe it’s nothing to worry about, after all.”

"Is anyone outside of these departments aware that you’re staying here at your place of work?" Ammiteo pressed, his brows drawing down.

"No," Haden assured him.  "I haven’t told anyone where I’m staying."

"Then the package should have arrived at your apartment, if it’s from someone you know." Glaive pointed out.

Haden grimaced.  “Yeah, good point.  So someone outside our departments knows I’m staying here.”

"It’s a pretty transparent attempt to get at you, if that’s what this is," Kent said.  "I thought Sandman was smarter than that.  He had to have known we’d have the package checked out by a team to disarm any booby—"

Shard’s voice interrupted him.  “Get your people out of that room _this instant_ , director.”

Kent and the others turned to regard the sorcerer with surprise, each of them wondering how he had managed to sneak up behind them without any of them detecting his presence.  Shard’s silvery gaze was fixated on the package in the room and there was an expression of dread and anticipation on his ethereal face.  Kent and Ammiteo glanced at each other for a split second before they both ran to the communication unit on the wall.  Kent was closer so he reached it first and he urgently relayed Shard’s warning to the men and women in the containment room.

"Laker, get your people out of that containment room _right now._ ”

One of the bomb techs looked up and he stopped his companions from proceeding further.  They hurried out of the containment room without question and the one named Laker approached Kent.  His voice came out tinny from behind the protective headgear he wore.

"What’s the problem, sir?"

Before Kent could answer him, Shard pushed through the armored agents and went through the door, advising everyone to seek cover as he went—particularly Haden.  “Get behind something, there isn’t much time,” called the sorcerer before stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

"What in the _hell_ is he doing?” yelled one of the women on the bomb squad. 

"Just do as he says," ordered Ammiteo.  "He’s picked up on something we missed.  Seal the exits to close off this section from the rest of the building, hit the alarm and get _down_!”

As everyone rushed to comply, Shard began to murmur the words of an arcane spell.  His eyes glowed with intensity as he drew energy from the elements and channeled it to his will.  A scintillating dome formed around the box, and another one formed separately around Shard, like a protective shell. Haden didn’t get the chance to see more before his partner yanked him into a utility closet with him.  He vaguely noticed that there seemed to be more air pressure in the confinement of the closet and he guessed by Glaive’s strained face that the lishere was doing something with his powers to shield them physically from whatever was coming. 

There was a hollow boom and the sound of something cracking.  Haden could see white light coming in through the crack in the bottom of the door and the there was a slight tremor beneath his feet.  It died off quickly and everything was utterly silent for a few heartbeats.  Someone outside in the hallway called out an inquiry, asking if anyone was hurt.

"Shard," Haden said, more worried than he cared to admit. 

Glaive seemed to share his concern and he stumbled out of the closet with him and made a beeline for the containment room.  There was a smell of ozone in the air; the kind of scent that came before a thunderstorm.  Everyone was coming out of their individual hiding spots and Ammiteo already stood beside Kent at the observation window, trying to see inside.  The containment room was full of smoke—or maybe it was fog.  Either way, it was so cloudy that seeing inside was impossible.  A long, jagged crack had formed in the observation window, but the shatter resistant glass otherwise held through the blast.

"I’m going in there," Haden said in determination, and he didn’t wait for anyone to argue with him or try to stop him.  He charged for the door, flipped the bolt and pulled it open.  He was surprised by how cold the interior of the room was and he got his confirmation that the cloud inside was fog, not smoke. 

"Shard?  Say something, so I know where you are!"       

"I’b right behind you."

Haden whirled and he barely refrained from striking out impulsively against the lifebearer, who was suddenly at his back.  Shard had one hand clamped over his nose and he looked up at the knight with dilated gray eyes.

"Whew, you’re okay," gasped Haden.  "Aren’t you?  Oh crap…your nose is bleeding.  Did you get hit by shrapnel or something?  Do you need to see a medic?"

"I’m find," said the sorcerer, pinching the bridge of his nose to stem the bleeding.  "This happeds sobetibes whend I haddle a bager edergy surge."

"Uh, okay."  Haden wasn’t sure he would have understood that even if Shard’s speech wasn’t distorted.  He looked at the box, now a pile of bits in the middle of the room.  Evidently, Shard’s magic bubble contained the physical explosion within it and the shockwave was the cause of the cracked glass and the tremor. 

Shard staggered and Haden responded in the only way he knew how.  “Here, let me.” He swept the lifebearer off his feet smoothly and picked him up before Shard could utter a peep of protest.  He carried him bride-style through the door and into the corridor, where the other agents were crowding around.  Some were reporting to security what had just happened, while others were checking for injury. 

"So buch for digdity," complained Shard as Haden carried him over to a chair in the main corridor and lowered him into it.

"Hey, you probably saved our butts," Haden comforted.  "You’ve got plenty of dignity.  Uh…that’s the word you were going for, right?"

Shard smiled around his hand and nodded.  “That’s right.”

One of the other agents offered some toilet paper to Shard that she’d apparently hastily wrangled from the nearest bathroom.  He thanked her and used it as a tissue to dab at the blood under his nose.  Ammiteo approached with Glaive and he looked both troubled and impressed.  “Agent Glaive didn’t sense anything at all, and Laker reported that just before they were ordered out of the room, he scanned the box and found no evidence of an explosive.  So, the question is what exactly was in that package and how did you stop it?”

Shard took a moment to clean up his nose and check for further bleeding before answering.  Now that he wasn’t pinching his nose shut, he spoke coherently. “You were right, Director; Sandman _is_ ‘smarter than that’.  The bomb wasn’t physical…it was magical.  Seeing as you have no Bargel agents here to scan for such things, it made it past your security without much difficulty.  I sensed an energy field around the package, but it wasn’t arcane in nature.  I could sense the magicks underneath, though.  This means our crafty criminal has an ally with substantial magical skills, or else he paid someone to create and contain the arcane bomb for him.  Sandman himself placed the prohibiting field around it to prevent your spirit singer from sensing it in time.”

Glaive cursed softly in frustration and ran his fingers through his bound hair, tugging free a few silvery-white strands from the ponytail.  “He’s managed to find a way to mask his presence from me almost completely.  It seems I can’t even pick up the psychic residue from his tampering, anymore.  My spiritual senses are blind to him.”

"Don’t fret too much," soothed Shard.  "If he can do it, so can you.  No matter how good he is, he isn’t perfect and he’s going to slip up.  The fact that he’s made another move against this organization is proof that he’s losing patience."

Having overheard, Kent gave new orders.  “Okay people, send the word around that from now on, no packages or deliveries of any kind are allowed into this building.  Anyone that attempts to deliver anything is to be immediately taken into custody and questioned.  I can’t believe nobody even saw whoever delivered that package in the first place.”

"They did, boss," Malcolm corrected.  "I just got a report from the front desk and the receptionist in the lobby took the package from a delivery guy.  She says she can’t remember what his face looked like, though."

They all exchanged looks and Glaive heaved a sigh.  “Then he’s been here.  The bastard walked right up to our front doors and—”

"SECURITY CAMERAS!" Haden’s shout startled Glaive enough to make him jump.  "Sorry for yelling, but we’ve got this place wired inside and out to monitor everyone that comes and goes from the building, right?  We should have caught Sandman on the feed, if he delivered that package himself."

Kent nodded grimly and turned to Malcolm.  “Go have the security feed for the last hour exported and bring it to my office so we can check it out.”

"You got it, boss."

* * *

 

A half hour later, Azurel was still enjoying the arts and crafts festival in the city square.  He moved from display booth to display booth, sipping a frozen lime daiquiri as he studied the wares from international craftspeople and artists.  He particularly liked the Avran pottery, and he decided he was going to buy some of it for himself.  He combed his bangs into place with his fingers after a breeze blew them over his eyes, and he tucked his hair behind one hoop and gemstone decorated ear.  He nibbled his lower lip absently as he considered the vases and bowls on display, trying to decide which colors would best compliment Zevian’s house and his personal room at the club back home.

"You should choose something that compliments your exquisite coloring," a deep, course voice said from behind and to the left of him. 

Azurel turned and looked up at a tall, powerfully built sire dressed in black.  He was a handsome fellow, though there was something a little off about his skin.  After a moment, he decided it was a little too smooth.  The sire’s hair fell past his shoulders, bound into a ponytail.  Seeing that it was almost identical to Zevian’s brown, golden-streaked hair, Azurel faltered a little and his throat tightened.

"Such a beautiful face shouldn’t wear such a frown," the stranger said with an engaging smile.  "Have I intruded overly with my suggestion?"

Azurel smiled politely, used to hearing lines from sires and humans alike.  “I’m sorry; you just reminded me of someone for a moment.”  In fact, now that he thought of it, the man’s smile was similar to Zevian’s, too.  Maybe he was just seeing his lover everywhere now that he agonized over where their future would go. 

"Someone?" The stranger tilted his head and his gold, green-rimmed eyes swept over him admiringly.  "An ex lover, perhaps?"

Azurel felt an odd sensation then.  It was almost like a caress, moving through his entire body.  It was undeniably sensual and to his mortification, his nipples pebbled and his groin started to swell.  His mind went completely blank and he couldn’t look away from the sire’s hypnotic gaze.  It was like the man was trying to see into his soul.

It ended abruptly, leaving the young man dazed and blinking with confusion.  His random admirer frowned as if in annoyance, but he quickly schooled his features.  “You know, I’m rather familiar with fine art,” murmured the sire persuasively.  “You have the look of someone searching for something to buy, but unsure of what to invest in.  If you would like some advice, I’d be ever so willing to help you.”

Azurel’s earlier, unexpected rush of arousal faded quickly, to be replaced by a terrible suspicion.  The hair…the voice…the build…the eyes… and finally, the way the man had pierced him with those eyes and caused that funny feeling. 

He was standing before Sandman.

He told himself he was being ridiculous, but everything _fit_.  The only thing that didn’t fit was the face, but the lack of burn scars could be explained with cosmetic surgery and this man certainly bore the signs that he’d had work done.  Azurel felt a swell of panic and the only thing that kept him from losing his composure was his years of experience in living with fear and hiding it.

"I would love to take you up on your offer, sir," said the lifebearer with his most charmingly clueless smile, "but I’m here with someone already."  He resisted the urge to look around for that "someone", who had left his side to seek out a public restroom, moments before the stranger approached. 

"The person I remind you of?" queried the sire with another coaxing smile.  "He must be a risk taker, to leave such a beautiful creature alone for even a moment.  Do I detect a Zarnian accent in your voice, lovely?"

"I was…born in Rhuidhim," explained Azurel carefully, "but I grew up in Zarn."

Inwardly, he was praying to the ancestors for Idrisar to hurry up and come back, because he was afraid that he’d revealed something to this man already, even though Zevian placed protective wards on him.  He suspected the stranger had already tried and failed to read him, which logically would make him more curious.  Very few people could repel the intrusion of a spirit singer without being spirit singers themselves or having someone that _was_ put shields on them.

"And your companion?  Is he from Zarn as well?"

Azurel forced another smile at the man and shook his head, lying through his teeth.  “No, he’s a resident of this city.  Please excuse me, I’m late to meet up with him.”

The man didn’t try to detain him, though his serpentine gaze was uncomfortably intrigued on him.  “Of course.  One can’t blame a man for trying.”  He took Azurel’s hand and turned it over to place a kiss on the palm.  “It was a pleasure, mister…?” He raised his eyes from the hand and looked at Azurel questioningly. 

"Azurel," blurted the lifebearer before he could stop himself.  He resisted a grimace, mentally kicking himself for giving his real name.  Those eyes were just so hypnotizing and he was nervous and flustered. 

"Beautiful," purred the sire—and it was unclear whether he was referring to the name or the man who bore it.  "I’m Zevian.  Maybe I’ll see you around again, Azurel."

The dancer was so stunned by the man’s use of Zevian’s name that he could do little more than smile dumbly at him as he gave him a wink and sauntered away. 

* * *

 

Idrisar hung up his mobile with a sigh.  “Great.”

Ammiteo rang him while he was washing his hands and he informed him that Sandman managed to get a magical time bomb through security. Vurkanan thankfully sensed it before it was too late, and he contained the blast with his sorcery and detonated it.  He probably saved some lives in the process.  Unfortunately, the one person to see the deliveryman couldn’t recall what he looked like, and the video surveillance suffered interference during the approximate time of delivery.  If Sandman _did_ personally deliver the arcane bomb, he used his supernatural talents to foil the cameras and he wiped the memory of his face from anyone who saw him.

"It fits his pattern," muttered the lifebearer agent. 

He’d done something similar when he went after Dr. Adder—conjuring an electric storm over the area that interfered with surveillance instruments and shorted out the hotel’s power grid.  Maybe his bombing attempt was meant to force them to bring Haden out into the open temporarily, to relocate him.  Or maybe he was just trying to rattle them.  With a psycho like Tsyther, there was no telling. 

He needed to get back to headquarters, to help investigate this matter.  In truth, Idrisar was glad Sandman finally made a move.  It meant he was coming out of hiding and they might have a better chance of tracking him down.  Azurel could come back with his bodyguards to enjoy the festival, if he wanted to.  Idrisar recalled that they were to meet up near the pottery booths and he started to head back in that direction.  He barely made it twenty feet from the public restrooms before his outing companion found him and jumped him.

 ”Idrisar!  Agent Blackbird!  He’s here!”  Azurel’s ruby eyes were wide in a face gone remarkably pale for one with a bronze complexion _and_ a southern tan. 

"Easy," advised the Ulvari agent with the calm patience he’d been trained to use when dealing with anxious civilians.  "Take a deep breath and slow down, okay?  You aren’t making any sense."

"Sandman," blurted the entertainer after taking a few swallows of his daiquiri.  "He’s here, in the square."

Idrisar cast a wary look around, immediately on his guard.  He pulled his companion behind a nearby woodwork booth and gazed into his eyes.  “How do you know?”

"He came right up to me and talked to me," replied Azurel.  "I was trying to pick out some pottery and he started giving me suggestions…and flirting with me.  At first, I thought he was just some random sire trying to pick me up, but when I saw his hair I stopped tuning him out and I noticed other things about him.  Everything about him matched the descriptions and the photos Zevian provided.  Even the voice was as you described it; rough and almost gravelly.  The only thing that didn’t match was his face.  It wasn’t burnt, but it looked like he had some cosmetic work done.  Now that I can stop and think about it, his face looked like the one in the old photographs Zevian had of him, before he got injured."

He went on to describe the encounter and he finished on an indignant note.  “The bastard used Zevian’s name.”

Idrisar pieced together the events since the Adder case and the months in which Sandman seemed to go dormant.  It was not only plausible but highly likely that Sandman had found and procured and appointment with a surgeon that would do a procedure on him without asking questions.  It might have taken more than one try to correct the damage, and the recovery time would explain why he went so quiet.  He remembered Vurkanan questioning why a man with the means to correct such a disfigurement would choose not to do so.  These new developments lent credence to the theory that Tsyther was just waiting for the right time to have his scars repaired, and now he was apparently back in business with a vengeance.

Idrisar nearly told his companion that Sandman had tried to bomb headquarters a short time ago, but he decided against it.  He didn’t need Azurel getting any more worked up than he was already.  What he _needed_ to do was get the younger man out of here and bring in some reinforcements.  The rule against trying to engage the suspect alone applied to him as much as it applied to everyone else, after all.

"Come on," urged the agent.  "I’ll get you a cab to take you back to headquarters."

Azurel walked with him and he sidestepped an old woman who wasn’t paying attention to where she was going.  “What are _you_ going to do?”

Idrisar pulled out his phone and called headquarters.  “I’m going to call for backup.”

* * *

 

-To be continued


	19. Chapter 19

* * *

"All right people, here’s the deal," Kent said to the hastily gathered assembly of chosen agents, "We’ve had a possible sighting of the suspect in the city square and we’ve got one Ulvari agent there now, seeking confirmation.  I want both guild units to haul ass and work as a _team_.  Give Agent Blackbird your full cooperation and listen to any advice Agent Glaive can give you.  Stick with your partners and be ready to work with the Bargel on this, as they’re sending in a team of agents, too.  Now get out of here and bring this psycho in.”

The Knights and Ulvari immediately sprung to action, moving with better coordination than ever before.  Vurkanan went with them, sticking close to Glaive, but poor Haden was forced to remain behind for his own safety.  He went with Glaive and Vurkanan to prepare, but he was under direct orders not to participate in the arrest attempt.  His presence there would only be a liability to the efforts of the other operatives.  He left the briefing room with his partner and Vurkanan anyway, to help them with any hasty, last minute preparations.

Ammiteo and Kent watched them go, and when they were alone in the briefing room again, the big lashran sighed.  His human companion glanced at him and immediately guessed what the matter was.

"I’m sure Agent Blackbird will avoid solitary confrontation with him.  Our job is to work behind the frontlines and keep everyone organized, Ammiteo."

The Ulvari director nodded, his frown remaining fixed in place.  Sometimes, he hated being on the administrative end of things.  If things got out of hand, he would directly participate in this mission.  Until then, he had to trust his people to take care of it—and each other.   

* * *

 

Idrisar gave instructions to Azurel as the cab pulled up and waited for them.  “Listen to me, you need to do whatever you can to keep Zevian distracted while we do this, okay?  I think we both understand his obsession with revenge, but it’s going to get him killed if it goes unchecked.”

Azurel’s eyes were wide. “I know Tsyther is insane, but do you really think he’d kill is own son?”

"I think Zevian won’t leave him much of a choice, if he gets the confrontation he’s craving," answered the agent grimly.  "I’d rather not test whether Sandman’s sense of self-preservation is stronger than his paternal feelings for his son."

"Okay, I’ll try," agreed Azurel dubiously, "but the minute he hears Sandman was here, he’s going to want to come."

"I know.  Just do your best."  Idrisar opened the taxi door for him and ushered him to get in. 

As the younger man complied, Idrisar caught sight of a man standing near the back of one of the merchant booths out the corner of his eye and when he looked directly at him, he immediately recognized him by the color and style of his hair, as well as the shape and pigment of his eyes.  Sandman was watching them and a chill went through Idrisar as the suspect’s mouth slowly curved into a conniving, cruel smile.  The gold-green eyes stared into his and Tsyther evidently recognized him too, because he mouthed a greeting to him.

"Hello, kitten."

Idrisar kept a wary eye on the suspect as he leaned over to speak to the cab driver.  “Take your passenger to the Avras Alliance Headquarters, at 32 Joram street.  Take the fastest route possible, keep your doors locked and avoid heavy traffic.”

"Agent Blackbird?" Azurel asked uncertainly from the back, his eyes on Tsyther.  The black-clad rogue was steadily watching them, and he crossed his arms casually over his chest as he leaned back against a street lamp.

Idrisar spared the younger lifebearer a brief glance.  “Don’t worry about me.  Keep your head down and go straight into the building as soon as the cab pulls up to headquarters.  I have people coming to assist me.” 

He gave the driver some credits and told him to keep the change, before slapping a hand over the roof of the vehicle and prompting the driver to go.  When the cab pulled away, Idrisar looked back where Tsyther had been standing seconds ago, and he wasn’t surprised to find him gone.  He got out his phone to report confirmation that the sighting was legit and to let them know Azurel was on his way in.

Ever prudent, Idrisar checked his hidden arsenal of weapons and kept a sharp eye out as he phoned in his statement.

* * *

 

"Hold on a minute, Vylden," Zevian said to his shark, frowning at the noise coming from the hallway.  "Something’s going on outside."

"No problem, boss."  The other sire’s image came through clear as a bell through the webcam application.

 Zevian stood up and quickly crossed the room of his private suite to the door.  He frowned again at the sounds of activity and he heard snatches of conversation.  He recognized the voices of Agents Wolfe and Glaive, as well as Vurkanan’s.  He unlocked his door, opened it and stepped into the hallway—just in time to see the three of them about to vanish around the corner.

"What’s going on?" Zevian called, halting them. 

Haden and Glaive glanced at one another sidelong and he could tell they had the sort of silent communication going on that he used to employ with Urahis.  Vurkanan answered before the two agents could. 

"Sandman has been spotted.  Agent Blackbird confirmed his identity just moments ago, and we’re going in to capture him."

Zevian’s heart pounded in his chest and he hardly noticed the frustrated look Glaive shot Vurkanan’s way.  “I should have been told.”

"Your task in this was to help us corner him," Glaive reminded coolly.  "This is an organization matter and you’ve done your part, and we’re in a rush."

Zevian’s eyes flashed.  “Is that so?”  He nodded at Vurkanan.  “What about _him_?  He’s not in any of the three organizations of your alliance.”

"He was sent here by recommendation of the Rhuidhim Ulvari," Glaive countered.  "His situation is different."

"As I’ve said before," Vurkanan reminded, "My task is to make sure he doesn’t get away, once they’ve found him.  Don’t make this about _me_ , Mr. Saber.”

"Relax, man."  Haden clapped a friendly hand over Zevian’s shoulder and shrugged.  "I’m stuck here too, and _I’m_ an agent.   Arguing about it won’t help them catch this guy and bring him in.”

"You sound so cavalier about it," Zevian said, "but you’re forgetting the ties I have to this man."

"We don’t have _time_ for this,” insisted Glaive, his coral eyes flashing.  “Believe me, I understand the value of bad blood, my friend, but if we’re going to capture this son of nightmares, we need to move _now_.”

"Take it up with the directors," urged Haden, glancing at his watch.  "We can’t help you with this, and time’s wasting."

Zevian compressed his lips, but they made a good point; they weren’t the ones he should be arguing with.  In fact, he didn’t intend to waste time arguing with anyone at all.  He jerked his chin at Glaive and Vurkanan.  “Go and get him.”

"We thank you for your gracious consent," answered the sorcerer dryly.  He looked at Haden.  "Don’t let me catch you anywhere near the scene, Wolfe.  Glaive, shall we?"

Before Glaive could answer, Vurkanan grabbed his arm and mumbled the words of a spell.  There was a flash of light that prompted Zevian and Haden to cover their eyes, followed by a swift implosion of air filling the empty space where the two men once stood.  Haden blinked and frowned in confusion for a moment, before he understood they had teleported.

"Handy," commented Haden. 

The only good thing about the situation that Zevian could see was that they would arrive on the scene faster to assist Agent Blackbird—and he would need all the help he cold get. 

Haden scratched his head and sighed.  “Well, I’m going to go and monitor what’s happening.  Since you’re an informant in this case, you could come too if you want.  I’m sure you’ll want to know the second they catch him.”

“ _If_ they catch him,” corrected Zevian. 

"Have a little faith," urged the knight as he turned to walk away.  "Glaive wants to catch this guy as much as you do, and if I know my partner, he’s not going to let him go easily."

Zevian nodded in concurrence, aware of Glaive’s connection to his sire.  Yes, if anyone in this organization had a personal interest in seeing Tsyther brought down, it was the spirit singer.  Haden went around the corner and Zevian was alone in the hallway again.  He sighed, checked his watch and decided he should mobilize his people to get involved—with or without the consent of his allies. 

He started to take the opposite route from the one Haden had taken, heading for the elevators to take them down to the next floor.  The doors opened as he approached, and Azurel stepped out of them with Johnny.  Zevian stopped in surprise, noticing his lover’s tension.

"Hey, I thought you were at the art festival," Zevian said as the two men approached him.  He looked at Johnny; who wore a grim expression.  "What’s going on?"

Johnny jerked his chin at the exotic lifebearer coming into Zevian’s arms.  “I guess you’ve heard there’s been a sighting of your old man?  Azurel’s the one that spotted him first.  Tsyther’s in town square.”

Zevian’s adrenaline spiked again, for an entirely different reason.  He pulled away from Azurel’s embrace and studied his face with a frown.  “You _saw_ him?”

"Yes," answered the young man earnestly.  "He…approached me.  At first, I thought he was just some regular stranger trying to hit on me, but—"

"He _hit_ on you?”  Zevian’s eyes lit up with an inner glow and his jaw tensed.  He impulsively scanned his lover, sensing that someone had tried to meddle with him.  “Did he hurt you?  Did he _touch_ you?”

Azurel caught hold of Zevian’s hands and squeezed them tight, shaking his head empathetically.  “No, nothing like that happened.  He just flirted and when I told him I was with someone, he left me alone.  Agent Blackbird got me into a cab and called it in as soon as I told him about it.”

Zevian had a nagging feeling that wasn’t the whole story, but he was too enraged at the thought of his sire daring to approach Azurel to press the matter.  Sensing his anger, Johnny got his phone out and eyed Zevian carefully.

"What do you want to do, boss?  Should I start making some calls or what?"

Zevian was caught between the need to assure himself that Azurel was indeed “fine” and the desire to confront Tsyther once and for all.  Yes, he’d made a promise to Urahis that he wouldn’t do anything rash, but now that the possibility was within his grasp, it was difficult to let go of his plans for revenge. 

Azurel evidently shared Urahis’ concern over that possibility.  He gazed into the guild lord’s eyes and spoke cajolingly to him.  “Zevian, the agency is on this.  Please, let them handle it?”

"You don’t know what you’re asking of me," answered Zevian in a tight voice.

Azurel lowered his eyes and nodded, frowning unhappily.  “Yes, I do.  I also know what you’ve told me about your sire, and how you didn’t want me to come here because you were afraid you couldn’t protect me from him.  Given that, can you _blame_ me for not wanting you to confront him?  As good as you are with guns, swords and knives, do you really think you could bring him down?”

Zevian sighed.  Azurel had a point.  As much as it stung to admit it, all the weapon and fighting skills in the world weren’t enough, when it came to Tsyther.  Agent Wolfe’s encounter with the man was proof of that.  The only one who stood a chance of going toe-to-toe with him was Glaive, and Zevian felt a bitter twist of regret over his choice to forgo further spirit singing training.  Maybe if he knew how to actually _wield_ his abilities instead of just stifling spirit voices and weaving shields, he could have a chance to dole out justice to his sire the way he fantasized.  As it was, all of his years on Wyndrah had taught Zevian practicality.  His lashran biology gave him longevity and eternal youth, but _not_ immortality. 

 ”Boss?”

Zevian looked at Johnny, then again at Azurel.  He could have been Urahis, looking at him with such a pleading, worried expression.  He sighed.  “Johnny, you and Therril stay on standby just in case, but don’t do anything until I give the word.”  Zevian reached out and pinched his lover lightly on the chin, smirking ruefully.  “I guess I’m just a sucker for a pretty face.”

Johnny nodded.  “You got it, Mr. Saber.  I’ll be ready for action if you make the call.  I’ll leave you two alone, now.”  He turned to head back to the elevator.

"You’re very tense," noted Azurel when they were alone together in the hallway again.  He started to rub Zevian’s shoulders.  He stopped after a moment when Zevian’s tension didn’t ebb and he took both the sire’s hands in his.

"Come on," urged Azurel, turning and walking backwards toward the suite they were sharing.  "Let me give you something nice to think about."

Zevian nearly told him that nothing would take his mind off the situation with his sire, but he knew how tenacious the dancer could be, when he had a goal.  He allowed Azurel to lead him back to the suite and he followed him in once the lifebearer got the door open.  He shut the door behind him and he didn’t complain when Azurel closed in and put his arms around his neck, drawing Zevian’s head down for a kiss.  He couldn’t remain impassive to the sensual young man’s efforts for long, despite his anxiety and frustration.  Before long, Zevian responded to silken kisses.  Their tongues caressed as he delved into Azurel’s mouth and he found himself backed against the door.

"Ow," muttered the sire against his amorous lover’s mouth, wincing.  "Doorknob.  Careful, gorgeous."

Azurel eased up and broke the kiss to give Zevian an apologetic look.  “I’m sorry.”  He kissed the sire’s clavicle through the open collar of his shirt.  “I just—” one of his hands began to busily work at undoing Zevian’s pants, while the other cupped the back of his head to draw it down—”want you to relax…or at least be tense for a _different_ reason.”

Zevian’s eyes unfocused as the lifebearer unbound his hair from the ponytail and nibbled his ear.  “Just feel, Zev,” coaxed Azurel in a breathy, passionate voice.  “Don’t think about anything, right now.”

The sire began to harden quickly and he exhaled softly as Azurel cupped him between the thighs and rubbed his crotch through the white pants he was wearing.  He murmured his approval and pressed against the massaging hand.  Azurel’s skilled touches and kisses were distracting enough, but soon his erotic suggestions and encouragement had Zevian’s blood burning with need.

"Let it out," urged the lifebearer.  He got the sire’s pants unzipped and he gently eased his throbbing cock out of his underwear, stroking the length firmly as he exposed it.  "Use me, if you need to let loose some aggression.  I can handle it."

"Careful," warned Zevian seriously, his voice husky.  He pulled back to gaze into Azurel’s heavy-lidded, glittering ruby eyes.  "I’ve never cut loose with you before, flower.  Not really.  I never _do_ , with the ones I care for.  I…” 

Realizing what he’d just come close to saying, Zevian stopped and compressed his lips uncomfortably. 

Azurel smiled at him, temporarily stopping his seduction.  “You care about me?”  He asked it almost shyly.

Zevian sighed.  “What, did you think my watching over you for all this time was just a hobby?  You’re smarter than that.”

Azurel bit his lip on a smile.  “Yes, but sometimes, _you_ aren’t.  I was beginning to wonder if I’d _ever_ hear you say you care about me.”  As if rewarding him, he continued his massaging and kissing.

As good as Azurel’s ministrations felt, they couldn’t erase the scene from his mind.  His insistent fondling and encouragement made the sire’s primal urges rise and the more Zevian thought about Tsyther trying to lure him off somewhere to have his way with him, the more he felt a need to claim his territory.  His old man had a direct hand in taking away the last lifebearer he’d loved, and now he dared to approach the one he was trying to open his heart to. 

Azurel gasped softly as Zevian claimed his mouth and kissed him almost roughly.  As he’d warned moments ago, Zevian generally restrained his baser urges when he was with a lifebearer he genuinely cared for.  He was always generous with his partners, but he didn’t worry so much about getting too rough with the ones that meant nothing to him.  Of all the lifebearers he’d known and desired in his life, only three had ever provoked this special tenderness in him. 

Now his patience was crippled by his frustration.  He felt so helpless and threatened.  Zevian cupped Azurel’s ass and lifted him against his body.  “I don’t want you out of my sight again until he’s caught,” he said roughly between kisses. 

He began to carry the lighter man to their bed, his lust mingling with determination to claim what was his.  It was primitive and stupid, but he needed it.  He half expected an argument from Azurel, considering how belligerent he’d become since this whole thing started.  Instead, the lifebearer conceded demurely.

"All right, Zevian," Azurel murmured.  He didn’t fight the sire’s restraining hold on him as Zevian eased him onto the bed and stretched out on top of him.  Indeed, the telling flush in his cheeks and the way he undulated beneath him suggested he found it exciting.  "Whatever you want.  I’m yours."

Zevian stared down at him for a moment, remembering that this beautiful creature had trained extensively in the art of seduction and erotic pleasures.  “Damn, you’re good.  You didn’t even blink.”

Azurel faltered ever so slightly, but then he shrugged as much as he could with his wrists restrained on either side of his head.  His heavy breathing and the hardness of his arousal pressing against Zevian’s hip proved he wasn’t faking his lust.  His voice came out breathless as he answered the sire.

"Does my surrender help?"

Zevian smirked.  “Yeah, it does.  Sorry.”

Azurel shook his head.  “Don’t be.  I understand, Zev.  I only argue with demands that I think aren’t reasonable, and you’ve got good reasons for making this one.”  He raised his head off the mattress and toyed with the pendant hanging from Zevian’s neck with his teeth before nuzzling the sire’s chest. 

"Besides," he sighed, straining slightly against Zevian’s hold.  "You know it gets me hot when you assert yourself in bed, even if I complain about how bossy you are outside of it."

Zevian chuckled and for a brief moment, the heat of his rage cooled.

* * *

 

_Meanwhile in the square:_

Idrisar stuck to the crowds as he searched for Tsyther, deciding to play it safe despite his burning desire to confront the killer again.  He _still_ had nightmares about that rough voice, the searing pain of the sword piercing his thigh, and the feeling of suffocating slowly under the crushing grip on his throat.  Idrisar was not a man that scared easily, but that night he really thought he was going to die.  His last thoughts before he lost consciousness from the blood loss were of his sons and his grandsons, and how he’d never see the little ones grow to adulthood.

Ever since then, Idrisar found himself wanting to jump at shadows and cringe every time the wind blew.  As far as he could tell, nobody suspected the lasting effect his encounter with Sandman had on him.  He’d spoken a bit too vehemently about the case once or twice, but he was fairly sure nobody knew how much the incident really bothered him.

Now, an end to it was within his sight—or rather, it _had_ been when he was getting Azurel into the cab.  Now he had no idea where Tsyther was, and he was more relieved than he cared to admit when he got the call confirming that Azurel was safely back at headquarters, about ten minutes ago.  As he moved through the market square, he listened with all his senses and he mentally willed his backup to get there faster.

He sensed someone coming up behind him fast as he neared the fountain and he turned, reaching for his concealed gun with one hand while preparing to unsheathe his Mokalor claws with the other.  He relaxed when he found Aurora Darshaw there, holding her hands out in a pacifying manner.  She was dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans, a white singlet and a deep purple button-up shirt.  She appeared unarmed, but he was sure she was carrying a weapon somewhere on her person.

"Easy lad, it’s just me."

Idrisar almost could have smiled at being referred to as a “lad”.  It had been a while since anyone made him feel young.  He took his hand off his weapon and looked around.  “I’m a little surprised to see you here.  Is it business or pleasure, Mrs. Darshaw?”

"Business," she answered, stepping up beside him and looking at the fountain.  "What else would I be standing out here in the middle of the day for?  I’m a night owl."

"Yes, I know," answered the agent.  He looked around as well.  "Can I assume you’ve been contacted about our suspect sighting?"

She nodded and tossed a coin into the fountain.  “Vurk let me know while he was getting ready to leave.  I’m here to lend a hand if necessary, but I’m sure your people can handle it.  Vurkanan is already here with Agent Glaive, on the west side of the square.”

"Why didn’t Agent Glaive contact me to let me know he’s here already?"

Aurora shrugged.  “That’s the thing with teleportation; it can fuck with electronic equipment.  Your agent Glaive’s communication gear isn’t working, but they’re not far from here.”

"Damn," sighed Idrisar.  He would have said more, but his phone vibrated and beeped in his pocket.  He fished the device out and brought it to his ear.  "Blackbird."

Lunvas’ voice answered him.  “What is your location, sir?  My team and I are at the south point and the Knight operatives are heading to the east.  It seems Agent Glaive and Shard are taking the west, and we have a Bargel team mingling with the civilians to avoid attracting attention.”

"I’m in the center with—" remembering that only a select few people in his agency knew about Aurora, he considered her and improvised smoothly.  "—A special agent from New Tariff.  We can take north point."

"A special agent?" Lunvas sounded confused.  "I haven’t heard anything about that."

"Director Ammiteo will know who I’m talking about, if you mention it to him.  It isn’t important.  Keep your people alert and try not to be too obvious.  Chances are, Sandman already knows there are people here looking for him."

"We’re dressed in civilian outerwear," assured the other Ulvari.  "I’ll remind everyone to keep a low profile, Agent Blackbird."

"Good," approved Idrisar.  "Make sure to equip your transmitters for fast communication, now that we’re on the case."

"Understood."

Idrisar put his phone away and got out the earpiece and vocal transmitter he’d brought with him.  Aurora watched as he strapped the vocal transmitter around his throat and secured the tiny sound receiver in his ear.

"I thought you were here on a leisure outing when you spotted him," she remarked once he had it set up and tested.

Idrisar nodded.  “I was.  With Azurel.”

She frowned, looking him up and down suspiciously.  “So you carry that kind of gear around with you all the time?”

"Since this case started," he replied.  He checked his claw weapon, briefly extending the blades to ensure they were in working order and at peak condition.  "Every agent involved in this has been encouraged to keep emergency communication equipment on them at all times, both on and _off_ the clock.  Seeing as it’s small and easily set up, I don’t think that’s unreasonable.”

"Makes sense," agreed Aurora with a shrug. 

They began to walk together, keeping an eye out for any sign of their quarry.  Idrisar briefly wondered how Azurel faired with Zevian, but he had bigger immediate concerns, right now.  Short of tossing him into a cell, there was only so much they could do to keep Saber out of this.  While Idrisar didn’t find the idea of incarcerating the guild lord wholly unappealing, they had no legal grounds to do so and it could lead to a lawsuit.  His best hope was to apprehend Tsyther this day and end this.

It then occurred to Idrisar that Sandman wasn’t likely to show his face in the open again—even if he _was_ still in the area.  He’d seen and recognized him when he was getting Azurel into the cab, and the man was no fool.  Tsyther would have counted on him calling in people to try and capture him, the moment he recognized him.

"This operation is doomed to failure," sighed the agent with a low curse, shutting his eyes.

Aurora stopped beside him and frowned.  “Why would you say that?”

"Because he spotted me before I called for backup," answered Idrisar, "and he recognized me.  He knows I’m Ulvari.  We’ve had an encounter before and Sandman would naturally presume I would call for aid.  He knows we’re tracking him."

"Aye."  She nodded and lowered her gaze thoughtfully.  "So what now, then?"

Idrisar shook his head.  “I don’t know.  There’s still a chance, however slim, so I won’t call off this operation just yet.  Maybe we should broaden our search a bit and check back alleys.”

"Sounds like a good plan to me," she agreed.

* * *

 

In another area not too far away, Glaive was having similar thoughts to Idrisar’s, and he shared them with Shard, using mind-speech.  ~ _"I doubt he’ll expose himself for easy retrieval.  We may be searching in vain, if he spotted and recognized Agent Blackbird."~_

~ _"Then what do you suggest we do?"~_

Glaive sighed and considered the situation.  “He’s only hanging around in this city for the chance to exact revenge on me.  Maybe a little incentive is in order.”  He glanced around to be sure there weren’t any civilians nearby before he banished the spirit-weave that he’d cast over himself.  The wind-walking technique dissipated and he seemed to materialize out of thin air.  Still invisible himself, Shard hissed a warning at him.

"Agent, I don’t think exposing yourself is a good idea!"

~ _"I do,"~_ countered Glaive calmly, looking around with glittering coral eyes.  _~”Sandman wants to punish me, not kill me.  He has no interest in attacking me physically, just yet.  First, he has to ensure I suffer for my ‘sins’ against him.  Understand?”~_  

 _~”I’m not sure I do,”~_ admitted the sorcerer in mind-speech.  _~”If you’re so certain he won’t lay a hand on you, why offer yourself up as bait?”~_

Glaive looked at the oblivious civilians passing them by, and at the merchants selling their crafted wares at the booths.  _~”To buy us time to capture him.  If he sees me here, he may presume Haden is in on the objective as well and the temptation to find out will be too great for him to leave so soon. Even if that isn’t the case, I’m counting on his resentment to stall his egress…if he’s still here at all.”~_

Shard conceded the point.  _~”I see.  Well if you don’t mind, I’ll remain_ _cloaked for the element of surprise, should our creepy criminal show his newly redesigned face.”~_

_~”Of course.”~_

* * *

 

As Glaive suspected, Tsyther _was_ still in the area, as he was not the sort of man to panic and he was more interested in observing how organized the Alliance authorities had become than making a hasty retreat.  He was not alone, however.  His two disciples were within range of him now, both with spirit singing abilities and both cloaked from the naked eye, like himself.  Like Glaive and Shard, the three of them were linked through the aether for ease of communication.  He’d contacted them as soon as he recognized Blackbird and guessed the authorities would be combing the area for him. 

 _~”Mentor, I think you should see this,”~_ warned one of them.

Tsyther was absorbed in watching Agent Blackbird and the pretty, unusual lashran woman at his side.  So far, neither of them had detected him, but they could hardly be blamed for that given his method of stealth.  He tore his attention away from the pair to answer his disciple. 

_~”What is it?”~_

_~”Your traitor,”~_ answered the voice, _~”He’s here, in the open.  He appears to be alone.”~_

Tsyther frowned and lowered his gaze in thought.  He hadn’t survived for so long by allowing appearances to deceive him.  Take that strange woman with the gorgeous Ulvari agent, for example.  She appeared delicate, but he could sense the power in her slender frame…and her great age.  She could have been mistaken for a human college student, to the eye that knew no better.  She was, however, an ancient…and Tsyther guessed her involvement with the Ulvari was directly related to their hunt for him.

 _~”Don’t be fooled,”~_ he warned both of his disciples, _~”Just because Glaive appears to be alone doesn’t make it so.  He’s trying to flush me out.  I’m almost embarrassed for him, to think I would fall for such a cheap trick.”~_

_~”Then you don’t want us to make a move?”~_

Tsyther smirked.  As much as he loathed his errant pupil, he respected his abilities.  He’d taught Glaive well and he knew beyond a doubt that the lishere had only become more formidable, over time.  _~”Feel free to try, if you favor a humiliating defeat.”~_

Neither of his apprentices answered, and he could sense their sullen embarrassment through the link.  He didn’t care.  They were just tools to him, but he reminded himself that they _were_ of some use and they _did_ have privileged information about him. 

 _~”Keep an eye on him,”~_ Tsyther advised.  _~”If you see any sign of his partner, notify me immediately.  And remember, we have Bargel in the area too.  Risk de-cloaking at your own peril.  If you sense the slightest hint of your weaves unraveling, retreat immediately.”~_

 _~”Understood, Mentor,”~_ they both answered as one.

Tsyther sighed, satisfied that their wits were sharp enough to take his warnings seriously.  Neither of them were exactly star pupils, but even mediocre spirit singers were superior to average followers.  He returned his attention to the two lashran on the streets below, pondering whether he should keep following them or not.  Agent Blackbird looked up at the buildings, wisely scanning the rooftops.  Tsyther went still and raised a brow when the perceptive creature’s lovely blue eyes settled on the spot where he stood, seeming to stare right at him.  He couldn’t possibly see him, yet Idrisar’s brows furrowed with obvious suspicion and his eyes narrowed for a moment, before his gaze slid past Tsyther.

"You really _are_ good, kitten,” whispered the rogue spirit singer with a sharp smile.  His respect for him grew even more.  Even those _with_ the gift would be hard-put to detect him when he was cloaked, like this.  Idrisar’s ability to sense him even a little was impressive, indeed.  He wondered what kind of connection Agent Blackbird had to the exotic lifebearer he’d escorted to the cab earlier.  Could they be related?  Their looks and mannerisms were very different, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.  Tsyther got the impression that Blackbird would have done his best to shred him to bits, if he’d seen him moving in on the other lifebearer near the booths earlier.  The agent was as deadly as he was perceptive, no matter how attractive he was.

"With skills like that, you may prove more of a threat than I first thought."  A new idea came to Tsyther, then.  He just needed the right moment to act on it.  He informed his two minions of his plan through the link and they immediately began to move from their positions to come and join him.

* * *

 

"I think we might have to call this a bust," sighed Ammiteo over the communication frequency. 

Idrisar nodded, resolved as well.  He could have sworn he sensed something nearby just a little while ago, but he had nothing more than a vague hunch to go by.  “I’m sorry, Director.  I knew it was a long shot when he recognized me.”

"This wasn’t your fault, Agent," assured Ammiteo.  "You followed protocol and acted in a timely manner.  At least we know his appearance has changed and he’s still in the city."

"Yes, he closely resembles the unaltered photographs that Mr. Saber provided for us, now."  Idrisar looked around with frustration.  He and Aurora were just inside an alley, at the edge of the square.  "I suppose there’s no help for it.  I’ll see you at headquarters, Sir."

"Good work, Blackbird," complimented Kent, breaking into the frequency.  "We missed him this time, but you were on the ball as usual."

Uncomfortable with the praise, Idrisar shrugged.  “Let’s hope we get some results, next time.  Blackbird signing out.” 

He ended the transmission and removed the communication equipment, turning to his female companion.  “I appreciate your effort to help, Mrs. Darshaw.  I’m sorry we didn’t succeed in a capture.”

"Eh, you win some and you lose some," she excused, waving a hand negligently.  She produced her mobile phone from her pocket and frowned at it as she tried to contact her sorcerer companion.  "Hmm, strange.  I’m not getting a signal, now."

Idrisar pulled out his phone as well and checked it.  “Me either.  Maybe when we move out into the open, we’ll have better—”

"Look out!" 

Aurora suddenly shoved him aside, and since he wasn’t expecting such a thing so abruptly from an ally, the Ulvari agent staggered into the nearby brick wall.  Idrisar saw a man materialize out of thin air and he saw the blur of a booted foot kicking out, right where his head had been mere seconds ago.  He was fortunate that Aurora saw it coming while he was distracted with his phone.  He quickly recovered his balance and moved to help the woman—who had just blocked a follow-up strike aimed at her, this time.  The attacker had short-trimmed golden hair and gray eyes.  That was all Idrisar had the chance to see of him before he sensed _another_ attack coming—this time from behind him. 

Idrisar disappointed his would-be attacker, immediately dropping and delivering a sweeping kick to his ankles.  The bigger lashran swore vividly as he lost his balance and fell onto his back.  Idrisar pounced on him swiftly before he could recover, extending the blades of his Mokalor as he pinned him down.  He stared into the surprised blue cat-eyes and he guessed that this one was young and inexperienced.  The sire’s hair was white, straight and shoulder-length.

"Aurora, are you all right?" Idrisar called as he pressed the deadly blades of his claw against his subdued assailant’s throat and gave him a warning look.  He didn’t dare take his attention off the man, bearing in mind that inexperienced or not, he still had spirit singing abilities and that made him more dangerous than average.

"Aye, fine," she grunted.  Her assurance was followed by a curse and a cry of pain as her opponent landed a hit.  "I haven’t had a good brawl in a while."

Idrisar hastily applied his communication set, unwilling to take the chance that there were more than two of them.  He tried to call for backup, but all he got was static.  Familiar with such interference, he fought down his dread and kept his senses open.  It seemed that the hunters had become the hunted, and he guessed that either these two were either a distraction or they were on a mission for Sandman.

"Where is he?" demanded the agent, drawing a drop of blood from his captive’s throat.

The sire spread his hands.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Aurora showed her opponent the sole of her boot up close and personal and he staggered, slapping a hand over his nose as blood spurted.

"Two spirit singers singling us out is no coincidence," Idrisar pointed out, trying not to be distracted by the fight raging in the alley behind him.  "Where is your leader?  Where is Tsyther?"

Idrisar heard Aurora holler then, and he dared a look over his shoulder.  Her attacker had done something to conjure a gout of flame and the woman barely leapt aside in time to avoid getting burned by it.  She drew a small, thin pistol from within the folds of her over shirt and she immediately fired it, forcing the sire to stop whatever he planned on doing next and dive for safety.  The bullet ricocheted off the brick wall and gouged a chunk from it.  Idrisar got struck in the shoulder by a piece of shattered brick, but he had a more pressing concern when his captive bucked forcefully and threw him off.  He briefly found himself pinned against the wall and he saw an old couple pass by the alley, looking in curiously.  When they saw the fight happening, they hurried away without a word.  Idrisar couldn’t rightly blame them, but he hoped they had the sense to get to a phone and call the police.

"Sleep," ordered his captor against his ear.

The lifebearer felt the man’s will pressing down on him, but thanks to Zevian’s re-application of the spirit shields, the command failed to lull him.  Adept at getting himself out of holds like this, Idrisar went completely limp for a few seconds and the moment he felt his captive’s hold on him loosen, he twisted nimbly out of it and drove his knee into his ribs.

"I’m not tired," informed the Ulvari, and he followed up with a left-hook that probably knocked one of the sire’s teeth loose.

"Blackbird," shouted Aurora, "get _out_ of here!” 

Unlike Idrisar, she was unfortunately not protected from spirit singing influences, and though she fought it when her opponent followed his comrade’s lead and invoked a lull on her spirit, she succumbed to the suggestion.  Idrisar saw her fall to her knees, then to her stomach.  Her gun fell from her limp hand as she fell asleep in the middle of the alley, leaving him alone with the two sires. 

Though he knew he was in a sorry situation indeed, Idrisar was too disciplined to let his fear master his actions.  He kept a level head and he danced aside as Aurora’s attacker threw a knife at him.  He jumped and climbed right over the back of the one he’d briefly held captive as he tried to tackle him.  The blond conjured a gust of wind that knocked Idrisar into the wall, but the agent was too deft on his feet to be thrown off-balance for long.  His combat skills and instincts were honed more finely than his two opponents, but he had no defense against their manipulations of the environment around him.  No matter how good he was with martial arts or his weapons of choice, they had their spirit singing abilities to even the playing field and they outnumbered him.

The smartest thing to do for self-preservation would have been to get out of that alley and find the nearest crowd of people.  One of the rules for survival was that there was no shame in fleeing or seeking help, if it came to that.  Unfortunately, the rules of survival didn’t cover the immorality of leaving a helpless companion behind.  Abandoning Aurora at such a moment would have been an unforgivable act of cowardice, and such a thing went against Idrisar’s nature entirely.  

"Goddamn, this one’s stubborn," grunted the blond as Idrisar evaded yet another attack.  "More slippery than an eel!"

His white-haired friend might have responded to that, but for the chop to his throat delivered a second later by the Ulvari operative.  He ended up choking for air instead as the hit nearly collapsed his windpipe.  Idrisar didn’t spare a second to congratulate himself as the sire fell to his knees, clutching his throat.  He might be temporarily out of the fight, but his obviously more experienced friend only had a bloody nose to slow him down.  He saw the blond tense and begin gesturing and he guessed he would soon have another elemental attack to deal with.  Before that could happen, however, another form materialized in the alley—directly behind Idrisar.  He sensed it but he was fatigued and he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the next attack against him.

"Hello, kitten."

The voice from his nightmares was the last thing Idrisar heard before he was struck forcibly in the side of the head.  His world went black.

* * *

 

"What about her?" asked the white-haired sire hoarsely, with a nod at the lashran female’s unconscious form.  He absently rubbed his bruised throat.

Tsyther gathered his prize into his arms, lifting him bride-style.  He glanced at the curious woman and his first impulse was to have her killed, but she was far too interesting to him and she could provide more information.  “Bring her.”

The white-haired disciple moved to comply, but something entirely unexpected happened at that moment.  Not even Tsyther could have predicted the bolt of lightning that sizzled through the alley and struck his disciple dead-on, making his hair stand on end and causing his eyes to bug out.  The sickening smell of charred flesh filled the air as the man convulsed on his feet before toppling over, half-blackened. 

"I would advise you to step away from the woman," announced a voice from the end of the alleyway, "lest lightning strike twice."

Tsyther and his remaining disciple looked to see a beautiful lifebearer with flowing silver hair and luminescent, ice-colored eyes staring at them, with electricity crackling over the spread fingers of his hands.  He was in a bracing stance and he was clearly ready to cut loose with a second round.

"As you wish, fair one," Tsyther obliged courteously, sensing the lifebearer’s power and wise enough not to risk his prize in a fight with him.  He spared a cursory glance at his twitching, stricken apprentice before addressing the one that was still standing.  "Come.  We’ve overstayed our welcome."

The sorcerer took a step toward them, his fey countenance alarmed.  “Release the—”

Tsyther and his apprentice vanished, spirited away by forces that not even a sorcerer of Vurkanan’s merit could stop—and they took Idrisar with them.

* * *

 

Glaive found Shard in the alley some five minutes later, having tracked him down after the sorcerer didn’t return from his “potty break”.  He didn’t expect to find a charred body lying in a puddle, and the sight of the lifebearer cradling a lashran woman with short-cropped black hair and unusually pale skin.

"Shard, what exactly is going on here?" demanded Glaive, immediately reaching for his concealed knives.  He cast a wary look around.

"Sandman," sighed the sorcerer, " _that’s_ what’s going on.  I would have rang you or your superiors, but my phone wasn’t getting reception and I was more concerned about the lady, here.”

"Sandman was here?" Glaive could have yowled in frustration.  He could still sense nothing of the man’s presence.  "Where is he now?"

"Gone," answered Shard.  He nodded at the unfortunate body lying in the alley.  "He’s one of his minions.  The other one escaped with Sandman, unfortunately."

The woman in his arms began to stir and Shard looked down at her, smoothing aside a lock of dark hair that fell over her porcelain forehead.  “Are you hurt, Wildcat?”

"Mmnnno," she mumbled after a moment, reaching up to rub her head with a slender hand.  "Where’s Blackbird?"

Glaive still had no idea who this woman was or what exactly happened, but his ears perked at the mention of Idrisar.  He hadn’t heard from the case leader since they first arrived, thanks to his equipment malfunctioning.  “Agent Blackbird?” he repeated,  “he was here with you?”

She nodded and looked around, blinking confused, blue-gray eyes.  “Told him to get out of here.  Is he around?”

Shard closed his eyes and an expression of helpless regret and frustration crossed his face.  “They got him.  I failed to stop them.”

"You didn’t fail," she grunted, getting to her feet with his help.  " _I_ did.  I knew those bastards were using spirit singing and I should have told him to get help right away.  I got too cocky because I was winning a fist fight with one of them.”

Glaive’s curiosity over who the hell this woman was took a back seat to his dread for Agent Blackbird’s safety.  “Do you mean to tell me that Tsyther now has our top agent in his custody?”

"I’m afraid so," answered Vurkanan, his silvery eyes troubled and downcast.  "My apologies, Agent Glaive.  I couldn’t exactly hurl another lightning bolt at our ‘friend’ without hitting Agent Blackbird, as well."  He looked at the victim of his first lightning bolt, whom the woman was approaching.  "Maybe that fellow can tell us where he might be taking him, with the right incentive."

The woman bent over and lifted the man’s limp wrist, held it for a moment, and then let it drop.  She looked up at the two men and shook her head.  “Not likely.  You sizzled him good and proper, Vurk.  Can’t question a dead man—at least, not through regular means.”

Glaive regarded the sorcerer suspiciously.  “‘Vurk’?  Is there something you need to tell me?”

Shard gave the woman an accusing look, and she shrugged.  “One of their people just got kidnapped while trying to defend my useless arse.  I’m thinking it’s time to come clean with the lot of them and talk about what we’re going to do next.  You _know_ what a spirit singer can do, Vurkanan.  If he breaks Blackbird, he’ll have all the information he needs to carry out his goal, aye?”

Glaive looked between the two of them and he felt a little foolish.  Haden had sensed something odd about Shard from the beginning, but he just chalked it up to the aura of power surrounding him and his admittedly strange interest in him.  He still felt like he could trust the sorcerer, though he couldn’t say exactly why.

"I think you’d best take the advice of your lady friend," he warned, crossing his arms over his chest.  "An agent’s life is on the line now, and I’m in no mood to fuck around."

"It’s a long story," advised the sorcerer.

"Then give me the extremely shortened version," persisted the lishere.  "Time is of the essence and I’ve got to call this in as soon as possible."

His two companions looked at one another, communicating silently in the way very old friends or siblings sometimes did.  Shard began to give a hasty explanation, assuring Glaive that his director and Idrisar already knew the truth. 

* * *

 

-To be continued      


	20. Chapter 20

* * *

_A half an hour after new of Idrisar’s capture reached headquarters:_

Ammiteo paced in his office while his associate watched silently, waiting to see what he would decide.  He and Trey were both in positions of equal authority, but the knight’s director wasn’t the one missing a favorite agent, here.  Kent also suspected that his fellow director’s feelings for Blackbird ran deeper than that of a work colleague.  After three minutes of watching him pace, Trey decided to break the silence and give him a little nudge.

"What do you want to do, Ammiteo?  We’ve got to get on the ball, if we’re going to rescue your agent."

Ammiteo stopped and looked out the window, frowning fiercely.  “I know.  There’s just something else I have to brace for, too.”

"And what’s that?"

The sire heaved a sigh and turned to look at the human director with troubled purple eyes.  “I need to notify his family.  I made a vow to him that if anything ever happened to him, I’d contact his sons and let them know.”

Kent frowned back at him.  “But…he’s _captured_ , not _dead_.  Don’t you think it can wait?”

Ammiteo shook his head.  “No.  Idrisar was very specific about it when we had this conversation last month.  After his first confrontation with Sandman, he thought about it for a while and he doesn’t want his sons kept in the dark if he’s badly injured or otherwise in danger of dying.  He wants them to be prepared for the worst, if possible.”

Kent shrugged.  “I guess that makes sense, but it seems pretty grim to me.  Preparing for the worst usually means you’ve accepted death as an outcome.”

Ammiteo looked out the window again, his broad shoulders tense.  “I won’t accept it until I know he’s drawn his last breath, but I won’t lie to myself, either.  This could end in Idrisar’s death, depending on what Sandman’s plans are for him.  I’m sure he’ll keep him alive for a while, given that he’s a top agent of this establishment.  When he can’t get any information out of him, he may find him less useful and more of a burden.”

Kent nodded.  “But Agent Blackbird is smart, and he’s a survivor.  He may toss him a bone or two to satisfy him, until he can be rescued.  He’s got a family to think about, after all.”

Ammiteo smirked humorlessly.  “Yes, but you’re forgetting something else about Agent Blackbird: his stubborn determination.  He’d never surrender any information about his guild that could bring harm to it, no matter what was done to him.”  He looked at the skyline and sighed.  “I doubt even a spirit singer can force that man to reveal anything he isn’t willing to share.  He’s beaten one’s prying before and he has an even greater reason to do it now.”

Kent wondered at first if the Ulvari director was just exaggerating Agent Blackbird’s alleged discipline, but there wasn’t anything in Ammiteo’s stance that suggested he didn’t believe his own words.  The human sighed.  While Idrisar’s courage and loyalty were admirable, Kent feared it would land him in greater danger.  He frowned when he thought of that, and another thing occurred to him.

"These spirit singers," Kent said slowly, brows furrowed, "they can read minds, can’t they?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," answered Ammiteo, "at least, as I understand it.  They can manipulate thoughts, feelings and memories if they can get through a person’s mental barriers.  I can only hope Agent Blackbird proves as resilient against it now as he did before."

Kent sighed.  “You’d better not waste any time getting in touch with his family.”

* * *

 

Idrisar frowned in discomfort at the feel of something cool and damp pressing against the side of his head, making the injured spot throb.  It let up after a moment before gently returning, this time in a soothing manner.  He felt the damp material slide against his temple and he stirred, moaning softly.  Unfortunately, being knocked unconscious hadn’t induced a healing trance to repair the damage.  He’d have to slip into one later—provided his captors would allow it.

"Wakey, wakey, Agent Blackbird," coaxed a familiar deep voice. 

Awareness came to the groggy operative swiftly, even though he suffered dizziness and nausea from his head injury.  He was sitting upright in a chair and his wrists were tightly cuffed to the back of it.  His ankles were bound to the legs and there was duct tape around his waist, further securing him to the chair.  He blinked his eyes open and discovered that he was blindfolded.  Being the sort of person he was, Idrisar didn’t waste his time asking where he was.  Instead, he asked the most sensible question that sprang to mind.

"Tell me what you want with me, Tsyther."

There was a sigh, followed by the sound of someone shifting nearby.  Idrisar could sense his captor’s proximity and he forced himself not to shrink away when he felt the warmth of his breath against his cheek.

"You don’t rattle easily, do you?" Tsyther’s tone was darkly amused.  "What I want is restitution, but I’m sure you know that already."

"I’m afraid I can’t help you with that," answered the agent coolly.

"Of course you can," corrected Tsyther.  "You’re going to give me the leverage I need."

Idrisar smirked, and he spoke in Nandarian.  He guessed they weren’t alone in the room and he preferred to make it as difficult as possible for eavesdroppers to follow the conversation.  “If you think they’ll hand over Agent Wolfe in exchange for me, you are mistaken.  Even if the Ulvari were willing to make a prisoner exchange with you, the Knighthood would never agree to it.”

"I never suggested a prisoner exchange," answered Tsyther with a shrug in his voice.  "Your organization is making it exceedingly difficult for me to sufficiently punish my errant pupil, at this time." 

Idrisar barely resisted the impulse to flinch when he felt gloved fingers touch his face in a mocking caress.  “And your attempt to bomb headquarters failed miserably,” he gritted out, holding his ground.

"My…attempt?"  Tsyther sounded faintly puzzled and Idrisar thought he heard someone in the background shift.  "Interesting.  That was clumsy of me, wasn’t it?  Well, it doesn’t matter for my purposes now.  I have a less…controversial offer for your agency, for now.  I’ve decided that monetary compensation for the damages I’ve suffered will be sufficient enough for your release."

Idrisar’s brow furrowed.  “You’re going to ransom me, then?”

"Yes.  Not right away, though." 

The damp cloth was pressed against the injured side of his head again and Idrisar winced.

"First, I need some information from you.  I need you to share the layout of your facilities with me, Agent Blackbird.  You see, it would help me a great deal to know the details.  I’ve had some fantastic help with hacking your database, but I’m afraid my associate couldn’t quite delve deep enough to get everything that I need.  That’s where you come in.  I think the memory of one who spends most of his time each day there would be more sufficient than any schematic I could pull, don’t you agree?"

The full implication of his words made a chill go through Idrisar, but he refused to give his captors the satisfaction of showing it physically.  Zevian had recently replaced the protective barriers he’d woven for him, but Idrisar had no idea how long they could hold under assault.  “I assume that means you intend to pry into my mind with your spirit singing abilities.”

"You don’t seem very troubled."

The agent managed a shrug.  “I’m protected against such intrusions, as you obviously know.  I think my people will find you before you can do any real harm.”

Tsyther chuckled softly under his breath before answering.  “You think so, do you?  Yes, you _are_ protected, but now that I’ve had the time to examine your shields, I believe I recognize the work.”

Idrisar didn’t like the sound of that one bit, but he kept his calm.  “Oh?  I didn’t realize spirit singers left a signature.”

"Everything leaves a trail," answered Sandman.  "Every form of life has its own ‘signature’, from the tiniest bug to the greatest beast.  Those of us attuned to the spirit world can sense the traces, and each spirit singer has a defining method to his weaving of the currents." 

He sounded so rational and so calm, he may as well have been discussing it with a pupil instead of a captive.  Under different circumstances, Idrisar might have been fascinated.  He saw now what Glaive meant about the man; Tsyther exuded confidence, authority and wisdom.  He didn’t _seem_ like a madman at all, when he spoke like this.  Idrisar knew the truth, however, and he didn’t allow Tsyther’s charismatic presence to fool him.  Sandman’s next words made his breath catch.

"I know my own son’s work when I see it.  I’m the one who taught him how to weave the barriers, after all."

Idrisar cursed inwardly, but he knew it could just be a bluff.  Given the connections Tsyther seemed to have, it was just as likely that word got back to him from someone that Zevian was spotted working with Ulvari agents, if not here than in Zarn. 

"Your son?"  Idrisar pretended ignorance.  "We have only one spirit singer on our payroll, and I’m positive he is not related to you in any way."

"Don’t be coy, Agent." 

Tsyther huffed and his presence retreated.  Idrisar heard him shift and then he could barely detect the sound of the footfalls as the dangerous felon paced before him.  He listened carefully and he guessed that Tsyther was wearing rubber-soled boots, and the surface of the floor was made of concrete.  He was beginning to get drowsy; a sign that his body wanted to go into a healing trance.  He couldn’t afford to drift right now, though. 

"I’m aware that Zevian has been helping your guild," Sandman went on.  "To be honest, I don’t begrudge him this betrayal.  I pushed him to this…gladly.  I knew he was destined for greatness, and I raised him to rise to power.  Sentiments are for the weak.  He sadly proved to be a disappointment, though.  He feels too much, you see.  You lifebearers are his weakness."

Idrisar felt the hot breath against his cheek as Sandman suddenly loomed closer to him again, and he could feel the wicked smile in his voice when he spoke next.

"I can admire a lifebearer’s appeal and enjoy my passions with them, without getting attached.  My son is a different matter.  I can’t help but feel that if it weren’t for his mate, he might not be casting his lot against me, now."

Idrisar surprised himself, then.  Old anger on Zevian’s behalf boiled over and combined with his head injury and disorientation, it crippled his judgment.  He finally revealed some emotion to his captors.  “His mate was murdered in cold blood before his eyes, because of your actions.  Don’t make it sound like _you’re_ the injured party.  An innocent died because of your sadism and your son was as much a victim of it as his mate was.”

There was utter silence, for several moments.  He recognized the voice of the blond sire from the alley fight.  “Mouthy little bastard.  I’ll teach you some respect!”

Idrisar heard footsteps rapidly approach and he sensed the blow before it came.  He braced himself for it just before he was stricken hard in the jaw.  He and the chair he was bound to nearly toppled, but someone caught it and righted it swiftly.  A harsh gust of wind seemed to come from out of nowhere and there was a shout, followed by the sound of a body colliding with wood and breaking it.

"Do _not_ strike him again,” Tsyther warned.  “Besides, physical pain won’t break him and I’d rather not see his pretty face damaged.”

Idrisar heard a soft groan and the muttering of two other men, followed by the sound of shifting, splintered wood and footsteps.  Tsyther finally spoke again in a low, wondering voice.  “And there it is.  You’re a very interesting man, Agent Blackbird.  The danger to your own life doesn’t seem to phase you at all, yet one mention of my son’s former mate provokes this outrage.  I wonder, could this vehement reaction be provoked by feelings for Zevian?  You care for him, don’t you?”

Idrisar refused to deny or admit it.  He sat stonily silent, fighting off dizziness and the new throb of pain in his jaw.  He spit blood and felt around inside of his mouth with his tongue, making sure all of his teeth were still intact.  Sandman sighed after a few moments, evidently catching on that Idrisar wasn’t going to play his little game.

"I take no joy in what I’m about to do, kitten.  They simply don’t make them like you anymore, and I have a great deal of respect for you.  Regardless, you have something I need and I intend to get it."

"Good luck," murmured Idrisar groggily.  "My shields are fresh."

"That won’t matter," assured Tsyther.  "Even the tightest spirit shields can be unwoven with enough time and effort, and I’m the one who taught Zevian how to do it.  I can unravel his work faster than other spirit singers.  I’m sorry it had to come to this.  I would have liked to share a _different_ sort of intimacy with you.”

Idrisar tensed as his captor began to work the ether around him.

* * *

 

_A short time later, in Avras Alliance Headquarters:_

Zevian grumbled into his companion’s hair as the persistent knocking continued.  He raised his head from the pillow and he murmured a drowsy endearment to Azurel as the lifebearer rolled over and stuffed a pillow over his head.  The urgency in the knocking broke through his sex-fogged, sleepy haze and after checking his watch for the time, it occurred to him that this wasn’t just some pesky social call.  Even in his rudely awakened state, his mind was coherent enough to wonder why he hadn’t gotten a call, if it was such an emergency.  He grabbed his phone and discovered the truth when he saw that it was totally drained.

"Coming," he called out. 

He gave Azurel a reassuring pat on the rump as he got out of bed and put on his robe.  When he answered the door, he found Agent Glaive standing there with his partner, Agent Wolf.  Both of them bore troubled, grim expressions on their faces, and they glanced at each other before Glaive nodded at Haden encouragingly.  The knight cleared his throat and regarded Zevian with somber gray eyes. 

Zevian’s mind snapped to attention as he remembered _why_ he’d just spent the last couple of hours fucking his lover’s brains out.  “What the hell happened?”

"May we come in?" Glaive asked.

Zevian looked over his shoulder into the dim-lit suite, mindful of his companion.  “Azurel, put something on.  We have company.”

"Maybe we should do this out here," whispered Haden.

Zevian raised a brow at him.  “Maybe you should have thought of that before I said something to him, Agent.”

"Uh, yeah."  Haden cast a sheepish glance at his partner and stuck his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants.  "Sorry about that."

Zevian sighed as Azurel came up behind him and laid a quietly worried hand on his shoulder.  “No help for it now.  Come in, gentlemen.”

Glaive and Haden entered the suite and shut the door behind them.  Zevian turned to his lover and gave him a brief kiss on the mouth.  “Why don’t you get some coffee going for us, love?  This sounds like it’s going to be serious and I need my wits.”

"Sure," agreed Azurel.  His crimson gaze slid over the two agents with curiosity and a touch of dread, before he went to comply with Zevian’s request.

"Well, make yourselves comfortable," Zevian urged with a gesture at the chairs around the little table.  "I’m guessing by the looks on your faces that you don’t have a lot of time to spit it out."

"No, we don’t," agreed Glaive.  He took a seat at he table and as Haden did the same, he gestured to Zevian.  "Join us, Mr. Saber.  To put it bluntly, we’re fucked."

* * *

 

About five minutes later, the three men sat brooding around the table while Azurel poured the freshly brewed coffee.  Distracted by his fear for Agent Blackbird, Azurel barely caught himself before he overfilled Haden’s coffee cup.  “What are they doing to rescue him?”

"Everything possible," assured Haden.  "I know it’s easier said than done, but try not to worry yourself sick over it.  It doesn’t help Agent Blackbird for you to give yourself an ulcer."

Azurel bit his lip and bowed his head.  His bed-mussed, shiny hair fell forward to cast his features in shadow.  “He was determined to see me safely delivered here,” he murmured, “and now _he’s_ the one in trouble.  I should have tried harder to convince him to come with.”

Haden took a sip of his coffee and shook his head.  “It wouldn’t have been Idrisar, if he’d done that.  The chance to finally capture Sandman was more important than personal risks.  He made a judgment call and I doubt any of us would have done it differently, if we had been in his place.”

"You must remember that Idrisar Blackbird is an Ulvari operative, above all else," Glaive added.  "Like the rest of us, he knows the danger of his work and he accepts it gladly.  Self-blame has no place here."  He looked at Zevian, who was staring broodingly into his coffee mug.  "Especially for things we can’t control, such as the sharing of DNA."

Zevian looked up and a micro-expression of pain flashed over his face for a split second.  “I want in on the rescue effort,” he demanded.  “I know my sire better than most of you, and you’ll need every advantage you can get.  Save your speech about how this is up to the agency.”

"We had no intention of giving one," answered Glaive with a smirk.  "Why else do you think Agent Wolfe and I came to you with this information?  We’ve already convinced the directors that it would be folly to try and lock you out of this one.  You’re far too resourceful to stay out of the loop for long, and as you’ve already said, you _do_ have a more intimate knowledge of Tsyther than the rest of us.”

The guild lord looked to the augmented human agent.  “And your director approves, too?”

Haden shrugged.  “At this point, I think we’re taking whatever help we can get.  Nobody wants to see Agent Blackbird hurt…or worse.”

"You have connections," Glaive murmured.  "I’m obligated to state for the record that it would be ill-advised for you to _use_ those connections, of course.  As operatives of this organization, Agent Wolfe and I can’t condone any questionably legal methods you might have at your disposal.”

"We’ll take your statement that you won’t resort to using the underground," Haden said with a nod.  "And what happens when we aren’t around to see it out of our hands."

Zevian started to smirk, but Azurel was so distracted he didn’t quite catch the hidden meaning.  He frowned at the agents and put his coffee cup down so abruptly that some of it splashed over the side and onto the table.  He crossed his arms over his chest and gave both men an accusing ruby glare. 

"How could you sit here worrying about Zevian breaking the law when one of your own men’s life is in danger!"

Zevian’s mouth quirked and he started to say something, but his young lover’s tirade went on before he could speak up. 

"While you’re nattering on about obeying Avran laws, Agent Blackbird could be killed!  Oh, but at least you can pat yourselves on the back for not doing anything illegal to help him!"  Azurel realized he was practically yelling at them and he snapped his mouth shut and settled for finishing his point with a stony glare for both of them.

Glaive cleared his throat and arched a silvery brow.  “I see subtlety isn’t your strong point.”

"And he wonders how I caught onto him when he tried to assassinate me," muttered Zevian dryly, chuckling. 

Azurel’s high cheekbones began to darken as the three other men regarded him with amusement.  He mentally reviewed the conversation in his mind and it dawned on him that he’d jumped to his own conclusions without listening for undertones.  He was used to searching for hidden meanings when witnessing or overhearing guild business, but it didn’t occur to him to do that with the Alliance agents.  He realized that both of the operatives were making a suggestion to Zevian without actually making it. 

"Oh."  He bit his lip and fought the blush that was steadily blooming over his face.  Without realizing it, he reverted to the Zarnian dialect of his racial tongue.  "Excuse me…I’ll just clean this up."  He gestured vaguely at the coffee he’d spilt on the table and he hurried to the kitchenette to seek out something to wipe it up.

"I’m not sure what you said, but don’t be embarrassed," Haden said with a smile.  "It’s not something we could just come right out and say, man."

"But I should have caught on," sighed the lifebearer, reminding himself to speak Avran for the human’s benefit.  "Forests know, I’ve lived the sort of life that requires reading between the lines.  I wanted to ask if I could do something to help, but maybe I’m just kidding myself."

Glaive and Haden shared a look between them.  Zevian spoke up before they could respond to Azurel’s dismal comment.  “Look here, gorgeous, I’ve already made it pretty clear I don’t want you anywhere _near_ Tsyther…but there are things you can do to help, regardless.”

Azurel paused with his hand hovering over the sponge.  “Oh?  Like what?”

"You can make use of your charm to help me pull in a few favors," answered the mafia lord.  He looked at their guests and smirked again.  "Completely legal favors, of course."

"Of course," agreed Glaive with an answering smirk of his own.

Azurel looked between the agents and his lover, excited and hesitant at once.  “But Zev, my ‘charms’ might not do much good with a lot of the human…er…friends…you’ll be calling on for this.”

"We can enlist the help of a certain lady friend, to persuade those sorts," assured Zevian.  "But don’t be so modest, Azurel.  Even people that aren’t into lifebearers tend to find you fascinating.  Just do what you always do and I’ll try my best not to get jealous."

 Azurel smiled a little at that.  Since consummating their relationship, Zevian seemed to have trouble maintaining the detachment he’d always employed before, whenever someone expressed admiration for Azurel.  It would be interesting to see how he’d react to him resuming his usual duties in the club, when this was all over with.  Azurel refused to even consider the possibility that it might not end happily.  He had to think positive, or he’d be useless to everyone.

"I’ll do my best," he promised.

"Good," approved Zevian.  "Before I do anything though, I’ve got to call my son."

Azurel tilted his head curiously.  “Now?  It’s not even dawn in Rhuidhim, yet.”

Zevian exchanged a grim look with the two agents, who seemed to share his concerns.  “My sire—curse his hide—knows how to go for the pain, in order to force cooperation or torture someone.  He’s going to try and dig around in Blackbird’s skull while he’s got him in custody, and that means he could find out I’m working with the authorities.  He’s always been content to leave Orindel alone before, but that could change in a flash.”

The thought made Azurel’s stomach lurch and he placed a hand over it and grimaced.  “But…Orin is his own grandson!  Do you think he would hurt him?”

Zevian shook his head.  “At this point, I really don’t know.  He set up the events that took Urahis from me and I’m not willing to risk the chance that he’ll take it into his head to kidnap Orindel just to get me out of the equation.”

"The man doesn’t have many weaknesses," reasoned Glaive with narrowed eyes.  "But you’re definitely one of them.  You know his habits too well and your cooperation with us poses a real threat to him."

Haden nodded.  “Good call.”

* * *

 

_Meanwhile in Vartros, capital city of Nandar:_

"Wake up, beloved.  We need to get Seth and leave now."

Nithander groaned softly in protest and squinted at the sudden light as his mate turned on the bedside lamp.  “Bowen…what is the matter?”

The sire had left the bedside upon rousing him, and he was busily selecting clothes from the wardrobe and tossing them into the open suitcase on the floor.  “We’re going to stay in the Ulvari council building for a while,” he explained with a glance over his shoulder.  “Something happened on Avras and Father is…we cannot stay here.”

Nithander sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed to get to his feet.   He dragged disheveled locks of flaxen hair out of his eyes and approached his busy mate with a frown.  Ordinarily, he was the essence of patience and he tended to follow his mate’s lead in all things.  Bowen was scaring him, though.   

"Bowen, slow down.  Tell me what this is about.  I refuse to uproot our family in the pre-dawn hours without even knowing why!"

Bowen turned to face him fully and the tortured look on his face, combined with the tension in his stance, provoked the lifebearer to take a step back.  “My father…Dad has been taken prisoner…by the man his guild has been trying to capture for all this time.  That phone call that I got up to answer a little while ago was from Director Ammiteo.  He’s advised us to go into protective custody, in case this ‘Sandman’ has agents here that might come after us.”

Nithander’s eyes widened.  “Why?  Why would he _do_ that?”

The sire bowed his head and his copper hair fell forward to conceal part of his face.  “To use us against my father.  He hasn’t made any ransom demands yet, so they’re assuming he wants information from Dad.  I…I… _this is why I wanted him to quit this line of work_!”

Nithander embraced him, doing his best to sooth him.  “Bowen, your father is strong and resourceful, and Ulvari agents are notoriously difficult to hold for long.  For now, you must have faith in your father and concentrate on what you _can_ do, not what you _can’t_.”

Bowen took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded, returning the embrace.  “I’m sorry.  I’m just sick with worry, and they’re still trying to reach my brother’s family to warn them.”

"Have you tried?" suggested Nithander with a concerned frown.

Bowen nodded.  “Twice now, and I intend to keep trying as we pack to go.  I remember Sefon telling me something about visiting Lasaverus’ parents in New Tariff for the week.  I may try calling them, in case the guild doesn’t have them listed as contacts.”

The sound of a car pulling up in their gravel driveway prompted both lashran to go to the window.  A sire in an Ulvari uniform stepped out, followed by a lifebearer dressed the same. 

"Wait here," instructed Bowen, checking the knife he had hidden in his pajamas.  "Ammiteo gave me the names of the operatives they are supposed to send, and I will confirm their identities before I let them into this house."

"Be careful, beloved," cautioned Nithander worriedly. 

"Of course," promised the sire, and he left the bedroom and went down the stairs. 

He made it to the front door just as the agents began to knock.  He could see them through the frosted glass of the slim, parallel windows on the door.  “Identify yourselves,” he called, clutching the pearl-inlayed handle of the kris-bladed knife his father had given him for his birthday, last year.

"Agents Quathis and Riddaen, of the Ulvari-Vash," answered the sire’s voice from the other side of the door.  "The director of one of our Avras branches requested that we retrieve your family for protection, Mr. Blackbird."

Those were the names given to him by Ammiteo, but Bowen wanted to be certain.  “Press your badges against the window.”

 They complied and when he was satisfied, Bowen unlocked the door to let them in.  “My family is upstairs packing,” he informed them.  “Can I get you gentlemen anything to drink while we gather our things?”

"No, thank you," answered the lifebearer.  His wide blue eyes were deceptively gentle in his sculpted face.  "Please see to your family.  Agent Quathis and I shall ensure the safety of the premises."

Bowen gave them a little bow of respect and left them, hurrying up the stairs and down the hall to re-join his mate in the master bedroom.  He slid his arms around Nithander’s waste and drew him close, forcing a reassuring smile for him.  “It’s all right, Nith.  They’re legit.  I trust these men to get us safely to the council.”

"Thank forests," breathed the lifebearer sincerely.  He stroked Bowen’s hair and looked around with a desolate expression.  "I…am not sure what to pack, to be honest.  My mind is swirling with this news.  I suppose we should have _some_ formal wear, but this is not a holiday.” 

Bowen kissed his mate briefly on the lips.  “No, it’s not.  Go and get Seth packed and ready, while I finish up in here.”

Nithander nodded in agreement, putting aside any further questions in the interest of placing their child’s safety first.

* * *

 

_Later that evening, somewhere in Avras:_

"No, we can’t have you falling asleep just yet," Tsyther admonished when Idrisar started to nod off.  He slapped him smartly on the cheek, stinging him out of his reverie.  "I know you’re tired, but we have a lot of memories to sort through, in that brilliant mind of yours."

Idrisar would have glared at his tormentor, if he weren’t blindfolded.  “You know I won’t…give anything away easily.”

"Of course," agreed the spirit singer.  "You are one _tough_ nut to crack, agent.  I knew you would be.  This is going to take some time.”  He lifted a glass of water to Idrisar’s lips and stroked his dark hair gently.  “You must be thirsty.”

In the interest of keeping up his strength, Idrisar sniffed the liquid for any suspicious odors and warily sipped from the glass.  If Tsyther intended to drug or poison him, he likely wouldn’t resort to sneaking it via food or drink.  He would just force it down his throat or inject him.  The first swallow of the cool water brought about a reflexive gluttony in the lifebearer.  He drank thirstily, taking the opportunity to re-hydrate while he could.  The liquid moistened his dry throat and washed away the tinny flavor of blood from his mouth.  When he drained the glass, Tsyther pulled it away.

"More?"

Idrisar nodded.  “Please.”

Someone else approached and Idrisar heard the sound of ice cubes clinking together and liquid being poured.  The rim of the chilled glass was again pressed against his lips and he drank a little more slowly, this time.  When he’d had his fill, he nodded and remembered his manners.

"Thank you."

Tsyther huffed a soft laugh and set the glass aside.  “Even taken prisoner, you’re very polite.  They truly don’t make them like _you_ anymore, Idrisar.”

"I don’t see the point in being ungracious," replied the agent in an aloof tone.  "Though I’m sure your small acts of kindness serve no benevolent purpose.  I’m aware of hostage syndrome, Tsyther.  You won’t endear me to you with water or food."

"I didn’t expect to," admitted the killer in his deep, rough voice.  "You’re far too clever for that.  Again, I say it’s a shame it had to be this way.  I take no pleasure in breaking such a spirited lifebearer."

"Spare me your lies," suggested Idrisar.  "They cheapen us both.  I know better.  You’re a sadist and I’m sure you take delight in this."

Tsyther sighed.  “Perhaps, just a little.  I won’t pretend I don’t enjoy the rush I get when my efforts are rewarded with another snatch of your secrets.  For example, I know where your sons live, now.”

Of all the things Sandman could have told him, that was the one thing he dreaded the most.  Idrisar stiffened in his seat, despite his attempt to hide the effect those ominous words had on him.  Knowing his captor probably noticed the physical change, Idrisar clenched his jaw.  There was no help for it.

"Leave my family out of this," he warned.  "You won’t enjoy what I’ll do to you, if you try to harm them in any way."

There was soft laughter in the background, and Idrisar knew Tsyther’s minions were enjoying his helplessness as much as their master.  Tsyther’s voice was dry with amusement when he responded. 

"Big words, for a man bound head to toe and completely at my mercy.  You know, Agent Blackbird, you sound so convincing that I actually checked your restraints for a moment."

"If you think I’m in any way exaggerating," promised Idrisar, "threaten my family and see what happens.  I _will_ find a way to make you pay for it.”

The laughter died down and there was silence for several heartbeats.  Finally, Tsyther answered and Idrisar sensed his nod.  “I have no doubt you would, kitten.  I regret having to resort to this and I’m sure if you get the chance, you’ll slice me to ribbons.  Still, I can’t pass up the opportunity to force your cooperation.”

"Don’t do this," Idrisar said, his tone more warning than pleading.  "Deal with me however you want, but don’t bring them into this."

"It’s already done," sighed the assassin.  "You guard your secrets well, but your fears allowed a vulnerability I had to exploit.  I’ve already got people working to fetch your sons and their families.  If you stop fighting me and give me what I’m after, no harm will come to them.  I can’t offer that promise if you refuse."

Idrisar sat stiff and unyielding.  This was his test.  He had to have faith in his boys to protect themselves and their families.  “Until I have proof to the contrary, I won’t believe you have them in your custody.  You’ll get nothing from me.”

"I expect nothing less from you," admitted Tsyther.  "Don’t worry, though.  I’ll have the proof you require, soon enough.  In the meantime, I should probably feed you.  I can’t let you weaken with hunger; it would only provoke a healing trance faster."

"I’m vegan," fibbed the agent coolly.  "If you try to feed me a chicken nugget, I’ll spit it back out at you."

Tsyther chuckled.  “I somehow doubt that, with your breeding.  You would be polite enough to request a napkin.”

Idrisar shrugged, refraining from further comment.  He had no intention of denying his body nourishment to keep his strength up, but he’d be damned if he was going to make it easy for his captors.

* * *

 

_Elsewhere in Avras:_

"We’re almost home."

Sefon nodded and smiled, putting a hand over the one his mate had resting on his knee.  “That wasn’t such a bad visit.  You really make your parents out to be worse than they are, babe.”

Lasaverus gave him a mock-frown.  “Hey, you didn’t grow up with those people.  I’m telling you, my father is the stuff nightmares run from, when he’s not trying to impress the in-laws.”

Sefon covered his mouth to muffle his laughter.  “Ahem.  I’ve never had any trouble with either of your parents.  I think you’re exaggerating.”

The sire chuckled softly.  “They really  have you fooled, but that’s all right.  I’m just lucky you get along with them.  I prefer spending time with your dad, personally.”

"You just think that because he’s an Ulvari agent."  Sefon smirked. 

"He always gives the coolest gifts," said Lasaverus with a shrug.  "I almost feel sorry for the dope that tries to break into _our_ house.”

Sefon laughed softly again, glancing at his children in the seats next to him.  He saw that Clinton had dropped his pacifier into the seat and he quickly replaced it in his mouth and stroked his hair.  Both boys were sleeping, tired from the late flight.

"That’s the one complaint I have against your parents," admitted Sefon quietly.  "The way they lecture about the weapons my father gives us.  Sometimes, I’d swear they think we let the boys play with them!"

"Don’t let that bother you.  They’ve been anti-weapon for as long as I’ve known them—especially when it comes to guns.  Dad and Pops don’t know how to work them, so they’re scared of them.  They _love_ you, though.”

Sefon smirked again, well-aware of his in-laws affection for him.  His fertility probably had a hand in their acceptance of him.  Not many lashran could produce grandchildren for their in-laws within the first year of bonding with a new mate, and the way he was feeling lately, he just might be able to give them another one in the near future.  He squirmed a little and checked his watch.  He’d need to take more Amsinol in another half-hour.  To take his mind off of his growing restlessness, he talked about the Crowe family aversion to weaponry.

"Maybe if I could get them together with my father and he showed them how to use some of them, they’d be a little more comfortable with our arsenal."

"Hmm, maybe," agreed the sire.  "I didn’t even know how to _hold_ a gun, until your dad taught me.  Man, he’s cool.”

Sefon checked another laugh and shook his head, grinning at his mate teasingly.  “Sometimes I think if you’d have met him first, you would have bonded with my father.”

Lasaverus shrugged.  “What can I say?  Confidence in a lifebearer is one of the sexiest things in this world, to me.  Don’t worry though…you’ve got that in spades.”  He leaned in close to inhale Sefon’s aroma blissfully, nuzzling his long, deep red hair in the process.  “You’re the perfect lifebearer for me, Sef.  You’ve got your father’s self-confidence and looks, you’re smart, you’re great with kids and you’re a damned good cook.  I wouldn’t trade you for anything.”

Sefon grinned and brushed his lips over his mate’s cheek.  “Flattery will get you…everywhere.”

"Will it?"  Lasaverus waggled his silver brows at him.  "How about the ‘mile high’ club.  Do you think it could get me in there?"

"We’re _not_ doing that,” Sefon said in a warning tone.

"Oh, come on."  Lasaverus covertly slid his hand up further on the lifbearer’s leg, mindful not to be _too_ amorous in the presence of other passengers.  His voice was a cajoling, low purr.  “Don’t you want to be able to say you did it on a plane, just once?”

The idea had more appeal than Sefon was willing to admit; especially in his current condition.  “We have two children traveling with us on this plane,” he reminded, “And one of them is just a toddler.”

Lasaverus looked at their sons with a proud little smile, and he shrugged.  “They’re both konked.  Besides, Donnie is old enough now to watch his little brother for a few minutes, if we don’t come back before he wakes up.”

"You want to leave our two year old in the care of our eight year old for a booty call?"  Sefon did his best to look stern, but in truth, he was fighting more laughter.  His mate just had a way of making him smile without even trying.  "Do we _want_ the rest of the passengers to hate us?”

"Well, when you say it like _that_ , of course it sounds crazy,” argued Lasaverus softly, “but we’re talking _plane nookie_ here, Sef.  We’ve only got about an hour to take advantage of this opportunity and it might be a while before we get to travel together like this again.  I trust our kids not to blow the plane up while we have a quickie.”

Sefon squirmed in his seat again.  Lasaverus was being gracious enough not to flat out mention that he was in heat and needed cock, but he could tell by the twinkle in those emerald eyes that the sire was thinking it.  Yes, a good, hasty pounding would make him feel a lot better, but there was the small chance that their youngest might wake and need care.

"You know you want to," murmured Lasaverus with a charming, white-toothed smile.  "Just think of it; the cramped quarters, the awkward positioning of limbs, the sexy smell of that funky blue stuff they put in the toilette."

Sefon pinched him to shut him up, shaking with silent laughter all the while.  “You don’t make it sound very romantic.”

"It’s sex in a plane lavatory," excused the sire.  "There’s not a lot of romance to be had, but there’s the undeniable bragging rights of saying we did it in one."  He waggled his eyebrows at him again.

"Hmm, your advertising campaign is certainly interesting."  Sefon glanced at his slumbering children again and sighed.  He unbuckled his safety belt and got up.  "I’m going to go to the bathroom now.  If you happen to find your way in there, I suppose I can still say the natural course of things happened under protest from me."

"Thatta boy." 

Lasaverus winked up at him, and before Sefon turned away, he noticed the growing bulge in the sire’s designer dress pants.  Completely unaware of his father’s plight and the fact that the agency was trying to reach him, he squeezed carefully past his boys and walked the business class isle to the lavatory.  A glance over his shoulder ensured that his charismatic mate was coming to join him and he smiled to himself, more eager than he cared to admit.

* * *

 

_Meanwhile, early morning in Rhuidhim:_

"Unh…baby, that’s good."  Alistair approved of his rock-star mate’s motions enthusiastically, cupping his perky little ass as Orindel thrust.  The lifebearer was kneeling between his spread thighs, fucking him with rigorous enthusiasm whilst stroking him off with one hand and stimulating his nipples one at a time with the other.  

Theirs was not the conventional type of relationship between a sire and a lifebearer.  Alistair enjoyed being the receiver as much as he enjoyed being the giver, and Orindel was all too happy to give him his cock when he asked for it.  Alistair didn’t find it a bit debasing or uncomfortable, as some sires claimed it was.  Giving himself so completely to his mate brought with it a satisfaction that most “vanilla” sires would sadly never experience.  He looked up at Orindel’s delicate, pierced features and he took one hand off Orin’s ass to caress his face, panting heavily with pleasure.  The lifebearer shut his eyes and took one of Alistair’s exploring fingers into his mouth, sucking lightly.  Alistair groaned and thumbed the little hoop piercing the right side of his mate’s plush, bottom lip. 

The phone started to ring, and Orindel paused and released Alistair’s finger from his mouth.  “We never should have hooked one up in our bedroom,” he gasped, before resuming his pumps. 

"Maybe…you should answer it," suggested Alistair breathlessly.  "It could be a gig, or your sire."  The phone had rung a few times already, but they had let the answering service get it.

"I’m not picking up until you’ve blown your load," insisted the bassist with stubborn candor.  People that claimed lifebearers couldn’t hold their orgasms at bay during sex obviously had never met Orindel.

"Believe me," assured Alistair, eyes fluttering shut as the next shove stroked his prostate, "That won’t take long."

"Hmm…like that, baby?"  Orindel did it again, angling his thrust just right and drawing a moan of bliss from the sire.  He stroked his swollen erection faster, slicking the pad of his thumb over the moist, shiny knob of the glans.  "I love the way you look when I’m fucking you."

Alistair would have answered, but his climax approached and he arched his back and moaned the bassist’s name, instead.  He bucked in Orindel’s pumping hand and splattered the lifebearer’s shifting torso with his seed.  He briefly saw the feral grin of satisfaction on those delectable lips before his vision went white with pleasure.  Orindel pressed firmly into him and held it there, breathing heavily as the sire clenched tightly around his penetrating length. 

"Good boy," approved Orindel when Alistair lay spent and trembling beneath him. 

He leaned over him to give him a deep, possessive kiss before straightening back up with a sigh.  The phone had stopped seconds ago, picked up by the answering service.  Orindel started to move again—obviously intending to finish up for his own satisfaction—but the phone rang again.

"Motherfucker!"

"Just answer it, babe," panted Alistair.  "Whoever it is must have something important to say, if they keep ringing."

Orindel sighed again.  “It _better_ be important.”  He reached over to the bedside table and snatched the cordless phone off its cradle.  “Yo, Orindel here.  What’s up?”

Alistair watched his mate from his prone position on the bed and he became worried when he saw his frown.  “What is it?”

"Shh," ordered Orindel.  "Pops, what the hell?  How could his agency let that happen?  Uh-huh.  Right.  Dayum!  Wait a minute…why would he be interested in _me_?  What do you mean, ‘you can’t explain right now’?  I think I have a right to know why—” 

Alistair could hear Zevian’s voice bark a sharp command from the phone and he winced.  Orindel fell silent and listened to whatever the guild lord was saying to him.  Alistair felt his beloved’s erection beginning to soften inside of him and he knew it must be serious.  His first thought was that someone in the family must have died, and he began to stroke Orindel’s thighs soothingly.

"So you’re the one that’s been calling us all morning," Orin said after a few minutes.  "I almost turned the ringer off, too.  So I guess this really has you worried, right?  We can come stay with you for…oh?  Why not?  Yeah, okay.  I guess it would be pretty dumb to come right to the city where the guy’s at.  Good point.  What do you want me to do, then?"

Orindel listened and he sighed.  “Okay, Dad.  You’d better explain this shit to me after I get set up, though.  Yes, Alistair and I will go straight to Evindar’s house.  That place is like a fortress, with the security gate and the guards they’ve got now.  I’m sure we’ll be all right, so don’t worry.  Uh-huh.  Got it.  Let me know if anything changes.”

Orindel hung up the phone and rubbed his eyes.  “Looks like I’ll have to finish this up later.  Dad says that psycho that almost killed R-man might come after me, for some reason.  He wouldn’t tell me why.  Pack some shit, sexy…we’re crashing at Evindar’s place for a while.”

* * *

 

-To be continued    


	21. Chapter 21

* * *

They somehow made it out of the lavatory without making a scene, and the well-satisfied couple returned to their seats to enjoy the rest of the flight.  They touched down in Glass Haven at nine forty-seven in the evening, and they herded their cranky sons off the plane and into baggage claim shortly afterwards.  Now that he was out of the “no cellular” zone, Sefon retrieved his phone from his pocket and turned it on.  He frowned when he saw all of the missed messages and he noticed that his mate was frowning at his mobile phone as well.

"Sef, what’s going on?" asked Lasaverus as he scrolled through his missed calls.  "I’ve got a lot of calls from your brother and the agency."

"So do I."  Sefon felt a twist of dread in his stomach.  He could think of only one reason for the flood of calls from these people, and he forced the reactive panic down.  "Father…oh, forests…"

"What’s wrong with Granddad?" Donovan asked, and little Clinton immediately began to cry around his pacifier, picking up on his brother’s anxiety.

Berating himself for scaring his sons, Sefon quickly scooped the toddler up into his arms and ruffled Donovan’s hair.  “Nothing.  I just forgot his anniversary with your grandsire, okay?  Granddad is fine.”

"Can we call him?" Donovan didn’t seem convinced.

Sefon would have liked nothing more than to ring his father and hear his voice, but he had a terrible feeling that his call would go unanswered.  He gave his mate a warning glance and forced a smile at his oldest son, while gently bouncing his youngest in his arms.  “It’s late, Donnie.  Granddad works hard and he’ll probably be asleep, right now.  Just help us look for our luggage and I promise, I’ll see what I can do about letting you talk to your grandfather tomorrow.”

The little boy frowned, but his rebellion was mostly due to exhaustion.  Despite sleeping through most of the trip, traveling took its toll on him, as always.  Lasaverus knelt before the child and smiled at him.  “Why don’t you come around to the other side of the luggage return with me, kiddo?  I’ll let you pull our bags off, when they come around.”

Donovan brightened at the prospect.  He was always oddly enthusiastic about doing anything that made him feel he was taking care of his family.  “Okay!”

Sefon offered their youngest son to the sire, which was settling down from the scare and now whimpered softly around his pacifier.  “Do you mind?  I need to call…the cab.”

Lasaverus took the boy and nodded.  “No problem, babe.  Let’s go see the other side of the luggage carrier, Clint.”

Sefon smiled at them as his mate and sons walked around to the other side of the baggage claimer, but his smile faded as soon as the boys were out of sight.  He quickly re-dialed his father’s agency director, praying to the ancestors that he wouldn’t get the news that Idrisar had died in the line of duty.

* * *

 

"That’s not a happy expression," muttered Lasaverus when his mate joined him, several moments later.  He watched his oldest son closely examining the bags that came through, and then he glanced at the toddler at his knee.  "Please tell me we still have a Yule to look forward to with your father, this year."

Sefon leaned in close and murmured under his breath.  “Don’t react.  I don’t want to scare the kids again.  Father’s been kidnapped.”

Lasaverus’ eyes widened.  While the news wasn’t as bad as he’d feared, it was still shocking.  “ _What?_ ”

Sefon gave him a frustrated look and rolled his eyes toward the toddler at his leg, before speaking through his teeth.  “I _said_ not to react.  It isn’t safe for us to stay at home.  We’ll pick up a few things to add to our luggage and then we’ll go straight to the Alliance headquarters here.  They’ll be expecting us, and they’ll set us up in a witness protection program and living quarters until this is resolved.”

"I don’t understand," whispered Lasaverus.  He faked a smile at his oldest son as Donovan pulled the first suitcase off the line with a grunt of effort.  "Idrisar’s the one in danger, not us."

"His boss is worried that his captor might send people after us, to force Father’s cooperation," explained Sefon.  "So we’re going to play it safe, for the boys’ sake if nothing else."

It made a morbid kind of sense.  “So this kidnapper doesn’t plan on ransoming him?”

"I don’t know," admitted Sefon with a shaken sigh, finally revealing some emotion.  "So far, he hasn’t contacted them with any demands…but he hasn’t had Father for very long.  Ammiteo says he’s a very dangerous man and they’re doing everything they can to locate him and mobilize a rescue effort."

Lasaverus glanced at their youngest child, who was thankfully too preoccupied watching his older brother handle the luggage to worry about what his parents were discussing.  The sire reached out and placed a hand over one of his mate’s tense shoulders, rubbing it supportively.  Times like this really brought out Sefon’s father in him.  While Lasaverus sometimes wished he were a little easier to read, he was also thankful that the gorgeous redhead wasn’t given to histrionics.  Finding out his one remaining parent was in the hands of a killer had to be tormenting him. 

"Are you okay?"

Sefon nodded sharply, his jaw tensing.  He reached up and rubbed the hand over his shoulder appreciatively and he swallowed.  “I can’t think about it.  I can’t afford to lose it in front of our boys.  I just need to focus on explaining why we’re taking another ‘vacation’ and can’t say when we’ll return.”

"Why don’t you leave that to me," offered Lasaverus.  "I’m used to scratching up hasty sales pitches."

Sefon briefly shut his eyes and nodded.  “Okay.  I doubt I could make up a plausible story right now, anyway.”

* * *

 

_Meanwhile, in Valkyrie Falls:_

Vandrin’s surprise was clear on his face when he answered the door to find his cousin.  It was getting late, and he couldn’t imagine why the man would come for a visit at this hour.

"Can I come in?" Ammiteo asked.

Vandrin stepped aside wordlessly and gestured.  The bigger sire walked through the door and looked around at the sparsely furnished apartment curiously.  It was a far cry from the nice home Vandrin had been living in, and he gave his cousin a challenging look when Ammiteo’s eyes went back to him with a hint of pity in them.

"I had to mortgage the house," explained Vandrin.  "The odd jobs I’ve been taking weren’t pulling in the cash to pay the bills for that place."

"What about your mate?" asked Ammiteo.  "He couldn’t help you out with that?"

"He’ll have the money to get it out of mortgage next month.  I’ve told him he might as well move back in there with our son, since he’ll be eating the cost.  I’ll stay here and send him any spare cash I earn, to pay him back."

Ammiteo sighed and scratched his head.  “All of this could have been avoided.  Vandrin, I’m sorry for your financial and family woes.  I wish it could have been handled differently.”

The apology gave the younger sire closure, and he echoed his cousin’s sigh and shook his head, losing what remained of his anger.  “I didn’t give you a choice, man.  After going through all this, I’ve had to take a good hard look at myself.  I miss my family and I know that if I want them back, I’ve got to become a better person.”

Ammiteo seemed surprised.  “That’s…unusually mature of you.”

Vandrin smirked ruefully.  “Well, when you hit rock-bottom, everything is a lot clearer and you start to really think about what you could have done differently, if you had the chance.  I had a little crush on Agent Blackbird, I’ll admit.  I didn’t handle it right.  I guess I blamed him for being so attractive, and part of me felt guilty for wanting him like that, when I had a fine, sweet lifebearer to go home to every night.”

Something unreadable flashed in Ammiteo’s eyes for a brief moment, and Vandrin made a guess.  “Hey, I know you’ve got a thing for him too.  I’m sorry I ever offended him, all right?”

Ammiteo took a seat on the ratty couch and rested his wrists on top of his knees.  His purple gaze was somber and flat as he looked up at his cousin and made a desolate announcement.  “Idrisar has been taken hostage.”

Vandrin ogled him.  “You fucking _kidding_ me?”

The bigger man shook his head.  “I wish I were.  Sandman captured him during an attempted apprehension operation.  He hasn’t made any demands yet and we’re using all of our resources to try and locate him.  Hopefully, Agent Blackbird is still alive and Sandman is simply taking his time about contacting us with any ransom demands.”

Vandrin plopped down in the armchair opposite the director’s, and he put his head in his hands.  A blight of guilt washed over him, worse than ever before.  He remembered the last words he’d said to the gorgeous lifebearer and he shook his head.  “I didn’t mean it.”

Ammiteo frowned.  “Didn’t mean what?”

"What I said to him," answered Vandrin.  "About seeing him get his.  That was just my frustration talking.  I never wanted anything bad to happen to the guy."

"I hope you mean that, because I’m here to ask for your help," said Ammiteo grimly. 

Vandrin raised his head and looked at him again.  “You want _my_ help?”

The director nodded.  “I’ve always said you were a good field agent, cousin.  Right now, we could use every hand we can get.  Kent agrees with me that you would be a valuable asset to have on our team if this comes down to a fight—which it most likely will.  Help us out with this rescue effort and I swear, I’ll put in my personal recommendation that you be reinstated.  You’ll be placed on the payroll during this endeavor, earning the same wages you were getting before receiving your burn notice.”

 Ammiteo got out of his seat and approached the other man, looking down at him with sincerity in his chiseled features.  “This is your chance to make it up to him, Vandrin.  It’s your chance to earn your job back too, and I know you could use the extra money, right now.  What is your answer?”

It was a question that didn’t require a lot of thought, on Vandrin’s part.  He had never been a particularly spiritual person, but he wasn’t lying to his cousin when he said his downfall forced him to re-evaluate his life.  The chance to redeem himself and get his life back in order was too good to pass up.  He stood up and offered his hand to the bigger sire, nodding.

"You want me?  You’ve got me.  I promise to keep my mouth shut around the lifebearers, too."

* * *

 

Unaware of how frantic the efforts to rescue him had become, Idrisar suffered under Tsyther’s invasive mind assaults.  He’d already passed out twice, due to his head injury, the additional blow to the face and the mental barrage Tsyther was doling out.  He wasn’t allowed to remain unconscious for long; Tsyther had smelling salts and he made sure to revive him quickly, each time he fainted. 

"Why do you insist on resisting me?" sighed the rogue spirit singer, sounding convincingly puzzled and put-out.  "This can all stop, Agent.  Give me the information I need and I vow to clean you up and allow you to go into a healing trance.  I’ll give your people my ransom demands and you could be on your way home within a day."

"At the cost of compromising my guild’s security and further endangering the agent you intend to kill," answered Idrisar in a surprisingly level tone.  His head lolled on his shoulders and he was mildly thankful for the blindfold that kept him from seeing his surroundings.  He was so dizzy, he was sure if he could open his eyes and look around, everything would be spinning.  He felt his gorge rise and he grimaced.  The canned vegetable soup Tsyther had fed him earlier wasn’t sitting well in his stomach.

"You may want to stand back," warned Idrisar with a burp.  He couldn’t tell if his captor took his warning to heart and moved or not, before his stomach heaved.  He managed to turn his head to the side and avoid puking on himself for the most part, though he got some on his shoulder despite his efforts.  He heard Tsyther cluck his tongue as he vomited up the soup he’d eaten.

"Now look at what you’ve done," the sire chastised after the heaving fit ended.  Someone approached and Idrisar heard water dripping, moments before someone began to wipe his face off with a damp cloth.  "You would feel so much better after allowing your body to recover, Agent.  You’ve put up a noble fight, but it’s time to consider your own health."

"I’ll never willingly submit compromising information to you," insisted the operative in voice raw from puking.  "You may as well save your cajoling talk for someone more likely to fall for it."

Tsyther’s answer came in a considerably more threatening tone than before.  “I think you’ll change your mind when you won’t be the only one to suffer for your stubbornness.”

The reminder that Sandman intended to go after his sons nearly made Idrisar sick again.  He swallowed hard, trying to keep his nausea at bay.  “I could use another drink of water.”

"Of course."  Tsyther again sounded almost pleasant, and someone fetched the requested refreshment while Sandman cleaned up the mess on Idrisar’s shirt.

With subtlety that only a highly skilled Ulvari could master, Idrisar was slowly and steadily working his wrists free of the cuffs.  The vomiting fit actually worked to his advantage and provided a distraction, allowing him to shift in a way that gave him the opportunity to slide the cuff over his left hand, just a little more.  It could take hours of careful manipulation and dislocation of his thumbs, but he’d worked free of restraints tighter than this, before.  He just had to avoid giving it away to his captors, and when the timing was right, he could make a move.  Even if he couldn’t escape, he might do enough damage to force his captors to kill him, thereby ending their chances of using him against his guild.

* * *

 

While his father was calculating his options, Sefon was back home again, preparing to leave once again for an unknown time period.  He took some of Donovan’s old clothes out of storage, so that little Clinton would have something to grow into.  Toddlers outgrew their clothing so quickly, and shopping for him whilst under a protective program could be difficult.  He made sure Donovan packed his school books and he prepared an excuse in his head to give to the education center.  He and Lasaverus would probably have to tutor Donnie themselves, until this was over. 

Fortunately, Lasaverus would be able to network through his laptop, so his job performance wouldn’t go down from extended vacation time.  He’d already informed his boss of the basics of what was going on, though he refrained from telling him where he and his family would be going, telling him he didn’t know where the agency would send them.  As an old friend of Lasaverus’ family, his boss was sympathetic about it and he was willing to work with him on the networking plan.  As for Sefon, he already worked from home.  He had a small, personal online business selling hand-crafted lashran style jewelry.  It didn’t pull in massive amounts of cash, but his profits covered the cost of their groceries each week.

After helping Donovan pack another bag, Sefon told him to choose a reasonable selection of games and toys for himself and he went back into the master bedroom to finish packing his and his mate’s clothes.  Lasaverus was in the kitchen with Clinton, grabbing some baby food and snacks to bring with them.  Hoping the sire wasn’t piddle-farting around too much, Sefon reminded himself to go and check on him as soon as he finished packing.  Lasaverus was so mellow, he rarely acted with haste even when it was warranted. 

"Dad?" 

The harsh whisper of his eldest gave Sefon pause, and he turned with a frown to regard the boy.  Donovan had snuck into his room and he looked rather pale.  “What is it?  Have you finished packing as I told you to do?  Are you feeling sick to your stomach?”

The boy shook his head, and Sefon noticed that he was clutching his junior practice bow in one white-knuckled hand.  “I went to get a snack,” he whispered, shutting the door behind him, “and there’s a man in the kitchen.  He’s wearing all black and he’s pointing a gun at Sire.  He didn’t see me behind him, so I snuck back to my room and got my bow.”

Sefon’s heart lurched in his chest and he edged his way over to the bedside table, where he kept a pistol locked in the drawer.  He heard the sound of his youngest beginning to cry from the other side of the house, and it took everything he had not to rush blindly down the hall to confront the intruder.  He hadn’t heard a shot go off, and he was sure that even with a silencer on the weapon, the sound would have reached his ears.  It took two tries for him to get the combination right on the lock, because his hands were shaking.  He retrieved the gun from the drawer, checked the bullet chamber and set it aside for a moment.  He opened the bedroom window, removed the fly screen and knelt before his son, keeping his tone as calm as possible. 

"If you hear me yell for you to run, I want you to climb out that window and don’t look back.  Go to the nearest neighbors’ home and tell them to call the authorities, understand?"

The boy shook his head, his eyes bright with fear.  “I can’t leave you!”

Sefon hugged him tight.  “You have to, Donnie.  If I fail to stop this intruder, someone needs to get help and as our child, your safety is more important to your sire and I than our own lives.  You have to be strong and be ready to do this, for me.  Can you do that?”

Donovan sniffed and nodded.  “O…okay.”

Sefon stroked his hair and released him.  “Good boy.  I’m proud of you, Donnie.”

* * *

 

Lasaverus had been so sure they had plenty of time before any real danger presented itself.  Idrisar hadn’t been a prisoner of this “Sandman” for a full day yet and he found it difficult to believe the kidnapper could send someone after them this quickly, if he even bothered.  How wrong he was, and now his precious son was in as much danger as he was.  He held the toddler close and watched the masked man with wary green eyes.  Very fast, he’d been…and very quiet.  Lasaverus didn’t even know he was there behind him, until he spoke.  He guessed he had Ulvari training of some kind, and he wondered just how many rogue agents were actually out there in the world.

"Please," Lasaverus reasoned, "do whatever you want with me, but let my family go."

"Shut up and put the kid down," ordered the masked sire in a low voice.  All that could be seen of his face were his eyes—which were a blue-violet hue. 

"He’s crying and scared," argued Lasaverus.  "He isn’t going to _let_ me put him down.”

"Do you think it’s a good idea to argue with someone holding you at gunpoint?" warned the intruder.  "I said put the kid down, and put your hands up.  If you try calling out to your mate, you’re a dead man."

Seeing no other choice, Lasaverus tried to obey.  As he predicted, his son clung to his neck like a little sloth and he wouldn’t let go as he bent over and tried to deposit him on the floor.  “Clint, you’re going to need to let go of Papa,” urged Lasaverus as gently as he could.  “It’s okay, son.  Just stay by my legs.”

The child shook his head and cried harder, forcing his anxious sire to pry his little hands off.  The distressed wails were harder for Lasaverus to bear than the possibility of death facing him. 

"Shut him up!" hissed the kidnapper warningly, shooting a quick look around.

“ _You’re_ the one that made me put him down, dumbass,” reminded Lasaverus, anger slowly replacing fear as his son hugged his leg and whimpered.  “I told you it wouldn’t end well.”

"Pick him up, then," growled the other man, gesturing at the child with his gun. 

Lasaverus instinctively moved in front of his son protectively and he started to do as he was told, when he spotted a familiar flash of dark red behind the intruder.  He barely got the chance to register that his mate was armed with a gun before Sefon fired at the intruder.  Clinton screamed with fear at the sound and the intruder suddenly clamped a hand over his left ear—which had been blown off.  The stunned intruder turned and blood spurted between his gloved fingers as he faced the unexpected threat.  Narrow-eyed with purpose, Sefon took aim again and compressed his lips. 

Seeing that the stranger was about to fire on his mate in retaliation, Lasaverus limped over to the counter with his toddler still clinging to his leg.  He yanked the top drawer open and took the first object his hand met and he chucked it at the intruder, following up blindly with a second and third.  The first two throws went wild, but seeing a butcher knife fly past his head got the man’s attention.  Sefon dove just in time to avoid the hasty shot fired at him and the intruder regarded Lasaverus incredulously.  Desperate to protect his family but unschooled in combat training, Lasaverus was literally throwing everything but the kitchen sink at the man.  Knives, spoons, forks and a sippy cup sailed through the air, some of them striking their target and others flying wide.  Had Sefon not been lying on the floor, he might have been accidentally hit with a ladle that spun abysmally off course.

The assault of cutlery and silverware was evidently enough to convince the intruder it was not in his best interest to remain in this house.  Unable to take aim at Lasaverus under the furious torrent of eating utensils, he jumped over Sefon’s prone form and made for the back door.  Sefon rolled onto his back and tried to take aim at the retreating sire, but his awkward position made it difficult and their oldest son came around the hall corner with his bow.

"Donnie, get down!" Sefon yelled, but the boy had already taken aim at the retreating man and he fired a mini arrow at him.  There was a hearty curse from the intruder and he stumbled as he reached the front door.  He yanked it open and charged out into the night.

Emboldened, Donnie yelled after him.  “You’d _better_ run!  Big bully!”

Sefon grabbed the boy before he could go chasing after him.  “No, son.  There could be more of them.”  He turned to regard his mate with worried, dilated eyes.  “Lasaverus, are you okay?  Where’s the baby?”

The sire bent over to scoop their toddler up, who was still whimpering with fear.  “We’re fine, babe.  Are you okay?” 

The couple met halfway, kicking aside silverware that littered the floor as they shared a family embrace with their children.  “We’re okay,” sighed Sefon.  “Donovan, that was very brave but very foolish of you!  I told you not to come out of the bedroom.”

"I’m sorry Daddy," answered the boy in a voice quivering with excitement and relief.  "But I wanted to protect you guys.  I got him in the butt, too."

Lasaverus blurted a shaky laugh.  “Did you?  That’s better than I did.  Somehow I always imagined myself defending the family with one of those cool swords your granddad gave me for my birthday…not spoons and sippy cups.”

Sefon shrugged.  “You improvised, and it worked.  I think Dad would be proud of the way you used your environment against that creep.  I doubt he would have obliged you if you had asked him to wait for you to run and get a sword.”

"I’d better call the agency and let them know about this," Lasaverus said, his adrenaline still spiked.  He shifted Clint in his arms and dug his phone out of his pocket.  "Make sure the house is secured and get the bags, Sef."

"Right."

* * *

 

He stuck to the shadows and he stopped several blocks away, when he found an unoccupied house for sale.  With substantial pain and effort, he climbed the fence and took up shelter in the back yard, keeping to the walls of the house.  He’d already pulled the arrow out of his rump and he clutched the thing in one hand.  Not that it really mattered.  He’d left plenty of blood behind as DNA evidence for investigators, and there was nothing he could do about that.  He limped over to the back porch and gingerly sat on one butt-cheek as he called his contact to report the disaster.

"It’s me," he said when someone picked up on the other line.  "You can tell Tsyther if he wants that family, he can bloody well get them himself.  The lifebearer shot half my ear off and their brat shot me in the ass when I made my escape.  You can’t pay me enough to go back there."

He didn’t bother listening for a response.  He ended the call and wiped the contact number from his list.  Fortunately, he knew a doctor that would take care of him without asking questions.

"There’s got to be an easier way to make a living," muttered the veteran with a sigh.

* * *

 

Tsyther instructed one of his people to make sure Idrisar stayed conscious, while he went with Matroth to discuss the recent phone call alone, in the smaller storage unit connecting to the one he held the agent in. 

"What news do you have for me?" asked Tsyther once they were alone. 

Matroth shook his head.  “It’s not good.  The older son got his family to the Nandar Ulvari right away.  That younger one caught your associate in Glass Haven off-guard and took his ear off with a gun.  He wants nothing more to do with it and the Crowe family will be safely in Alliance custody, by the time you can arrange someone else to go after them.  The agency must have warned them right away, when you captured Blackbird.”

"Hmph, they moved faster than I hoped.  They really have cleaned up their act since I first arrived in this city."  He sounded both vexed and impressed.  "No matter.  Our guest doesn’t have to know that his sons have escaped our grasp, just yet.  I’ll let him sweat over it for a while.  Not even someone as disciplined as he is can hold out for long, with a lifebearer’s parental anxiety combined with his injuries.  He’ll break, eventually."

The redheaded sire nodded.  “Funny…the boss _knew_ something was suspicious about that pretty thing when he saw him in Nandar.  I’ll bet he would flip if he found out both him _and_ the sire he was with were agents.  I just can’t figure out how Blackbird foiled my spirit scan.”

"He’s more clever than you are," stated Tsyther without apology, " _and_ your boss.  Remember, Matroth, this doesn’t go to L’daris.  As far as he knows, your search for me turned up nothing.”

"That was the agreement," answered the other spirit singer with a less than friendly smirk.  "I have to say, this situation is much more interesting than I expected.  I might need a little extra, to keep my end of the bargain."

Tsyther raised a brow at him.  “Extortion?  You’re even less clever than I thought.”

The attack came before Matroth could fully register it or even try to put up a defense.  Just as he’d underestimated Agent Blackbird when he read his spirit, he’d underestimated Tsyther’s ruthlessness.  He had no formal combat training, and his common street fighting skills were no match for one with Tsyther’s experience and mastery.  He saw the flash of the knife and the cold, serpentine gaze of his companion before he felt the sharp pain.  The blade drove into his flesh like a hot knife through butter and he gagged as it pierced his heart, almost instantly.  Tsyther’s aim was so perfect that it slid between his ribs without even nicking the bone.

"I have a different idea," Tsyther informed him as his legs buckled and he slowly slid down the wall.  He followed Matroth down, staring into his dying eyes.  "I believe your dismembered corpse will send a more clear-cut message to your boss, don’t you agree?"

Matroth couldn’t answer if he wanted to.  His strength rapidly faded and the last thing he heard before the world went black was Tsyther’s closing reminder.  “You see, your mistake was in believing you could predict my response, friend.  You’ll now carry that to your grave.”

* * *

 

Tsyther wiped his blade off on Matroth’s clothes before returning to the main storage unit to speak with his men.  He motioned Ethan over and when the blond-haired sire complied, he whispered a brief explanation to him. 

"There’s a mess to be cleaned up in the next unit.  Make sure it’s properly cleaned up, packed away and sent to L’daris Undir by tomorrow."

The look in his eyes suggested Ethan guessed what this “mess” was.  “Yes, Mentor.  Did he betray us?”

Tsyther smiled coldly.  “He didn’t get the chance.  How is our guest?”

Ethan glanced over his shoulder at the chair-bound lifebearer in the center of the room.  “Lunon put his feet in ice water a minute ago.  I don’t think we can keep him awake for much longer.  He may have a concussion and the next time he passes out, he might never wake up again.”

Tsyther sighed and narrowed his eyes on the agent.  Not many earned his respect the way Blackbird had, and it would be a shame to allow such a fine looking thing die, if it could be avoided.  He had time before he really needed to start worrying about being found, and Idrisar was no good to him dead, anyway.  He approached the blindfolded prisoner and squatted down before him, easing his bound feet out of the icewater.

"I’d advise you not to try kicking me," warned Tsyther when the agent stirred.  "I’m going to clean you up and get you more comfortable, now.  I’ve decided to allow you to go into a healing trance, Agent Blackbird."

"Why?" demanded the lifebearer groggily.  He winced when Tsyther wrung out the washcloth in the bowl nearby and dabbed the dried blood at his temple.  "What changed?"

Tsyther considered the question before answering.  “Your head injury is worse than I thought.  It needs to heal if I want to ensure you stay alive.  Besides, how can you greet Sefon if you’re a corpse?”

Idrisar tensed in his chair, the sensitive lips drawing into a hard line.  “I don’t believe you.”

"You’ll see for yourself, when you wake up," Tsyther assured him.  He replaced the washcloth in the bowl and perhaps recklessly, he pressed one brief, firm kiss on Idrisar’s parted lips before working his potent will on him.  "Sleep now, Agent.  You’ve earned it."

Amazingly, Idrisar fought the suggestion for several moments before being overcome.  He yawned and muttered a sophisticated little insult that made Tsyther grin, before he fell asleep.  “I’ll dream of your downfall.  Reprobate.”

Tsyther chuckled as Idrisar’s head fell back and a soft snore issued from his mouth.  He turned to regard the three other men in the room.  Two were human and the third was a sire.  “Gentlemen, prepare my sleeping quarters for our guest.  I need to clean him up too, so a bucket of warm, soapy water and a sponge would be nice.”

"Are you sure you want to be left alone with him, Mentor?" questioned the silver-haired sire named Lunon with a wary look at Idrisar.  "He might be pretty, but we all know what he’s capable of."

 ”He’s in no condition to pose a threat to me now,” assured Tsyther.  “Now do as I say.”

They left without further argument and he turned his attention back to his captive.  He admired his sleeping features for a moment, even as he frowned at the bruise on his jaw.  Shrugging, Tsyther stood up and moved around behind Idrisar to cut off the tape binding his torso to the chair.  When he saw that the lifebearer’s left hand was nearly out of its cuff and the skin was raw and bleeding, he grumbled and rolled his eyes.

"I should have known.  You would probably chew your own leg off to escape, if you could." 

He found it more amusing than annoying, and he made a mental note to apply some padding to the cuffs before restraining him with them again.  He removed them and freed Idrisar’s ankles as well, paying close attention to every breath the agent took while he worked over him.  Despite his assurances to his men, he was very much aware of the damage this young looking creature could do to him, if he got the chance to use his limbs.  Even without the Mokalor or any of his other weapons, the Ulvari operative was as deadly as a viper. 

He lifted the agent easily once he had him freed from his bonds and he carried him out of the unit.  His people had done what he asked and his sleeping quarters were prepared for him when he crossed the compound with his burden and entered them.  Lunon opened the door for him with a respectful nod and he carried Idrisar inside.  Tsyther shut the door behind him for privacy and he laid the agent down on his bed.  He took his time with his task after getting him undressed, enjoying giving him the sponge bath immensely.  Idrisar’s body was as pleasing to the eye as his face, and Tsyther didn’t deprive himself of the pleasure of touching him inappropriately as he worked over him.

"The things I’d like to do to you," he murmured to the oblivious captive.  He shrugged.  "But, I do have _some_ morals about such things.  Even dubious consent is better than none at all.”  He bound him securely to the bed and covered him to the waist.  “Seep well, Agent Blackbird.  I’ll see you when you wake and we can continue where we left off.”

* * *

 

Ammiteo was lightly dozing in his office chair when his phone rang.  He jerked awake and grabbed the device off the cradle quickly, checking the time.  It was just past midnight.  This could be the call he’d been both dreading and waiting for.  “Ammiteo speaking.”

"I thought you might still be there," answered Glaive’s voice.  "I’m calling to report that the Crowe family made it safely to the Glass Haven Alliance building, Director.  They were attacked in their home when they arrived from the airport to pack some things, but they fought the intruder off and he got away.  The Glass Haven branch has people investigating now."

Ammiteo felt some relief, at that news.  “Was anyone in the family hurt in the attack?”

"No sir, just shaken up," assured Glaive.  "The eldest Blackbird son’s family is settling in at Nandar headquarters nicely, too.  You can rest assured that they are all protected, now."

"Good."  Ammiteo closed his tired eyes.  "I don’t suppose anyone has come closer to finding a location of the suspect and our agent?"

Glaive’s voice was uncommonly sympathetic as he answered.  “No sir, not yet.  I’m sorry.  Everyone wants Blackbird’s safe return and few will find rest until we achieve it.  Take some measure of comfort in the fact that everyone is working ‘round the clock.”

Ammiteo managed a brief smile at that, if only because he knew how humbly surprised Idrisar would be to learn just how much he was loved.  There was no comfort though…not really.  He could be dead, for all they knew.  He tried not to think of those lovely, crystal-blue eyes closing forever, tried not to think of that lithe, sweet frame lying broken and still somewhere. 

"Thank you for the update, Agent.  As much as I wish we could all work tirelessly, we’re still mortal.  We should all find what rest we can, for Blackbird’s sake as well as our own.  We’ll find this bastard faster if we aren’t slow-witted from lack of sleep."

"Absolutely," agreed the lishere.  "We’ll find him, Director.  Tsyther picked a fight with the wrong people."

 At a loss for anything inspiring to say right now, Ammiteo simply bid the agent good night and ended the call.  He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and he pulled out his wallet.  He opened it up and dug through it until he found the photobooth picture he and Idrisar had taken together on one of their “non dates”.  He brushed his thumb over the shiny surface, memorizing the smiling face of the lifebearer, whose head was close to his in the picture.

"Your family is safe, Idrisar.  I’ve kept that promise to you.  Now I promise to find you, one way or another.  Just stay alive."

Ammiteo’s voice thickened a bit at the end of the last sentence and he cleared his throat, blinking.  He replaced the photo and put his wallet away.  He should go home, as there was nothing more he could do at the office tonight.  He just couldn’t leave if there was a chance some breakthrough might occur before morning, so he decided to recline his office chair and resume dozing.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever felt such despair and anxiety.

* * *

 

-To be continued


	22. Chapter 22

* * *

**_Author’s note: *Trigger warning: non consensual situation and abusive situation.* No, that’s not Jack Sparrow’s compass._ **

* * *

 

While Idrisar Blackbird slept in a healing trance under the watchful eyes of his captors, his associates and friends continued their efforts to rescue him.  The biggest reason the case had dragged on for so long was because Sandman usually covered his tracks so well he was virtually impossible to trace.  This time, it was different.  As terrible as Idrisar’s kidnapping was, it created a unique opportunity to get a lock on the elusive hitman that took him hostage.  Vurkanan was the first to pick up on it when he returned to the scene the next morning, to help the Bargel agents work tracing magicks. 

Tsyther and his cohorts had been masked during the assault, but Idrisar hadn’t.  He’d been shielded by Zevian to repel spirit-singing intrusions, but he wasn’t “stealthed” like his captors.  Even if Tsyther laid a concealment over him after taking him to his destination, he couldn’t erase the traces that Idrisar’s aura had left behind.  That one small but vital slip-up gave them the hope of tracking the missing agent’s energy signature—even if they couldn’t track his abductors.

"You’re certain of this?" Ammiteo asked later that morning, during a private meeting between the case leaders. 

"Positive," Vurkanan assured him, and Agent Rose nodded in agreement.  "Each aura leaves an imprint, unless one has the ability to cover it up.  It’s like fingerprints, or foot tracks."

"Agent Blackbird’s psychic imprint left a kind of ‘smear’ behind, when he was taken away," explained Agent Rose.  "Let me demonstrate." 

She dipped her fingertip into her coffee, and then she took a piece of notepaper off the edge of Ammiteo’s desk and laid it on the surface of it.  “Imagine this being Blackbird’s point of origin, where he was last seen,” she said as she lightly placed her damp fingertip over the left side of the paper.  She dragged it over the surface of the paper to the other side of it, leaving a streak of coffee.  “And this is where he’s been taken.  Though the trail fades the further away he gets, traces of it still remain.”

"It may be enough to locate him," Vurkanan finished, "or at the very least, lead us in the right direction."

Ammiteo nodded, trying not to get his hopes up.  “You have trustworthy people working on this?”

"Absolutely," assured Rose.  "My own partner is overseeing the augmentation and he’s very good at it.  So far, evidence points to the northwest.  We haven’t confirmed the distance yet, but if they stopped anywhere within city boundaries with him, Winfield should have an approximate location for us by this afternoon."

Ammiteo digested the information.  As obsessed as Sandman seemed to be with getting his revenge on Glaive, it was possible that he _was_ still operating from somewhere in the city.  Of course, it was equally possible that he was holed up somewhere outside town, too.  It was impossible to say for sure.  He reminded himself that the Bargel weren’t promising to get an exact location of Idrisar.  They were using their magicks the way a hunter used a bloodhound, hoping it would lead them to the missing agent.

A persistent, dreadful possibility returned to mind and Ammiteo schooled his features before asking about it.  “What happens if the person you’re trying to track this way is deceased?”

Rose lowered her eyes, but Vurkanan remained stoic.  “The imprint they left behind while living would still remain, for a time.  Think of it like closing your eyes after seeing a flash of light.  The imprint of that light remains behind your eyelids for a while, even when it’s gone.”

"I see."  Ammiteo threaded his fingers together on top of the desk to resist the urge to clench his hands into fists.  "So even though your sorcery can detect Blackbird’s energy and track it, you can’t confirm whether he’s still alive or not.  Is that right?"

Vurkanan’s expression softened with sympathy, and he shook his head.  “I’m sorry, no.  There are other tracking spells we can use once we’re closer, and some will only work on live subjects.  If you prefer, we can try them, once we’ve followed the present trail to its end.”

Forests, did he want that?  It was vital to find Idrisar one way or the other, but Ammiteo wasn’t sure he could handle confirmation of his death.  Kent thought he was being too grim, but the Ulvari director had learned to be prepared for the worse, even if he hoped for the best.  He put his personal angst aside and he gave Vurkanan a short nod.

"We have to know as much about his situation as we can.  Sandman may still try and use Idrisar’s life as a bargaining chip, and I can’t just take his word for it that Blackbird is still alive, if he does."  Speaking of Idrisar like he was an inanimate object to quibble over left a foul taste in Ammiteo’s mouth, but he had a duty to protect his department, too.

"I see," murmured Vurkanan.  His pale gaze seemed to penetrate Ammiteo’s flesh and see straight into his heart, but he didn’t say anything aloud about what he saw.  "I shall give it my all to see your Agent Blackbird safely returned to you."

Ammiteo said nothing in response to that.  He gave both sorcerers a respectful nod and politely gave them leave.  They took the hint and left to go back to work on the case, and Ammiteo stared blankly at the glowing screen of his new laptop.  He’d broken the last during his unexpected, passionate office encounter with the man he was trying to save.  His hands clenched into fists and he decided it would be wise to blow off some steam in the gym, before he ended up breaking something else out of frustration and anxiety.

* * *

 

It took longer than they expected to get a lock on Idrisar’s lingering imprint, due to the psychic interference left over from the Ulvari agent’s captors.  Vurkanan worked tirelessly with the Bargel to get a reliable trail, but he reported that it could be morning before they had one.  Meanwhile, Zevian got an unexpected lead through Vylden, back home on Zarn.  Unquestioningly loyal to his boss, the guild shark managed to coerce some information from one of L’daris’ people.  He called Zevian with the information as soon as he got it.

"Undir sent his pet spirit singer to Valkyrie Falls to look for your old man," informed Vylden through the secured line.  "According to my source, he hasn’t checked in for a while and L’daris is starting to get anxious.  Maybe he thinks Tsyther will try to snatch up his spirit singer, or maybe he thinks they’ll both betray him to you.  I just thought it was interesting how he sent him looking for Tsyther just after you left."

"You’re sure about the time frame?" Zevian prompted, calculating recent events in his head.  L’daris _had_ tried to lure him into a death trap, after all, and his family did have past connections with Tsyther.

"I’m positive, boss," answered Vylden readily.  "And L’daris has been doing his damndest to gather all the support he can, while you’re away.  I think he might be looking to make a move and it’s possible he wanted to try and get your old man out of the way, in case he tries to interfere."

"Or he wants to bribe him to join his side," reasoned Zevian, well aware of how perilously fickle his sire’s loyalties were.  "He fucked up when he tried to kill me and Xellnaise and I’m sure he knows it.  Could be he’s getting desperate, and Tsyther might cooperate with him, if the price is right."

"You really think Tsyther would want Undir to come out on top, over his own son?"

 ”I think he’d want to see how ruthless he can make me be,” corrected Zevian grimly.  “That’s always been his goal; to see how powerful I could get, whatever the cost.  He takes survival of the strongest to a level no sane person could ever compete with, Vylden.  You’d best keep that in mind.”

"Right," sighed the shark.  "Sorry.  I’ll keep digging for local info, to see if he’s had contact with anyone else in Zarn since this shit started."

"If you can get your hands on information about any of Matroth’s family or contacts, it would help," Zevian urged.  "If he’s turned on his boss, one of them might know about it."

"Got it," agreed Vylden. 

* * *

 

Eventually, Idrisar sluggishly came out of his healing trance and when he opened his eyes, he was completely disoriented.  The first thing he noticed was that he was no longer blindfolded, so he waited for his eyes to adjust and he looked around.  He was in a dim room with an industrial look to it.  It had cinderblock walls, visible pipework following the ceiling, a metal pendant lamp hanging overhead and some crates serving as bedside tables.  The mattress he was lying on was clean, but creaky.  His wrists and ankles were cuffed to the metal bed frame, and this time someone had wrapped the restraints in foam padding.  They were so tight that they were nearly cutting his circulation off, but he was confident that he could still get out of them if he had the opportunity.

The next thing Idrisar’s sleepy mind took note of was his lack of clothing.  He was covered to the mid-torso with a blanket, but beneath it, he was nude.  He was also clean, and he realized someone must have bathed him—probably Tsyther.  Of all the emotions he could have experienced with that realization, he felt more annoyance than anything else.

"What is it with people undressing me while I’m unconscious?" he sighed. 

He realized it was quite possible his captor had done a lot more to him than take his clothes off and bathe him, but he refused to think about that.  He couldn’t afford to be traumatized by the possibility that he’d been molested or raped while he was out.  His initial effort to free himself had failed, but he could try again…and again, if need be.  His impulse was to struggle right away, but he made himself relax and gather his wits.  He listened with all his senses and remained calm, familiarizing himself with his environment as best he could.

He wasn’t in the same room he first awoke in, he was sure of it.  They must have moved him here after Sandman put him to sleep.  After several moments of quiet listening with all his senses, he was confident that he was alone.  He heard voices outside the door and he involuntarily tensed as they came closer.  He wouldn’t be alone for long.  He recognized the voice of the blond sire that had been present at his abduction and his newly healed jaw ached with remembered pain from the blow he had given him.  He also recognized the deep voice of Tsyther. 

The door clicked and Idrisar shut his eyes and forced himself to breathe deep and evenly, pretending to be asleep.  He heard Tsyther mutter to his companion, ordering him to wait outside while he checked on the prisoner.  Sunlight beamed briefly against Idrisar’s closed eyelids and he knew at least one night had passed since he was first captured.  The warmth of the light went away as Tsyther shut the door, and Idrisar heard his booted steps crossing the floor to him.

"Hello, kitten." 

The edge of the bed sank down gently with Tsyther’s weight as he sat on the edge of it, and his hand reached out to smooth aside a dark lock of hair that had fallen over Idrisar’s right eye.  His touch was gentle…a lover’s caress. 

"Still asleep, I see.  Or perhaps you’re merely playing possum, hmm?" 

Idrisar felt the sire close in and he didn’t react, keeping his body as relaxed as possible.  Warm breath stirred the hair at his temple and he felt the caress of lips against his skin.  Tsyther nuzzled there for a moment, before sliding his lips lower over the cheek, jaw and throat.  He kissed the spot where Idrisar’s jaw met his neck and to the agent’s consternation, the action drew an unwilling response from his body.  Goosebumps arose on his skin and he felt a warning stir in his groin.  He tried to ignore it, reminding himself that men of both races sometimes got erections for no reason at all.   

"It’s been a while since I’ve kissed a lifebearer’s skin," Tsyther murmured against Idrisar’s neck.  "You’re in short supply, these days.  I’ve nearly forgotten how smooth it is…or is that just you?  I imagine that lovely creature you were with in the square the other day would have skin as soft as yours, Agent.  What was his name again?  Oh yes…Azurel.  I must give my son credit; he has excellent taste in lifebearers.  You know, coaxing your spirit to reveal information is actually a bit easier when you aren’t conscious, Idrisar.  What a stubborn thing you are."

Tsyther’s fingertips traced lazy, slow patterns over Idrisar’s chest as he resumed kissing, licking and sucking at the lifebearer’s neck.  He tugged Idrisar’s earlobe briefly with his teeth and blew into his ear.  The agent’s nipples tightened in response and Tsyther made a pleased sound.

"Given your lingering attraction to Zevian," the sire went on, "I’m a little surprised you turned him down, that day he tried to bed you.  Was it noble intentions or fear that drove you, I wonder?" 

Idrisar felt the subtle invasion of Tsyther’s will and it was all he could do not to end his charade and struggle against it.  Tsyther’s fingertips brushed over the agent’s left nipple before gently circling it, making it tighten even further.  He realized with faint alarm that Tsyther was forcing some of these reactions to the surface, playing off his natural responses and intensifying them.  The sire’s warm lips traveled over Idrisar’s bared chest and Idrisar almost tensed when they closed over his other nipple.  Tsyther’s tongue swirled over the bud lightly before he released it and kissed his way back up to Idrisar’s neck.

"I know you’re awake," murmured Tsyther at last.  He dropped a hand over the blanket where Idrisar’s groin was swelling, and he gave it a brief little squeeze through the material.  "You’re very convincing, but I can sense your conscious thoughts, Agent.  How do you like this, hmm?"

Idrisar swallowed and gave up his act.  “You repulse me, no matter how you manipulate my body to react.”

"He speaks," said the sire, lifting his head to gaze down at the now glaring lifebearer with a crooked smile.  He continued rubbing between Idrisar’s legs.  "And in words I expected to hear.  You’re a difficult man to break, but I think I know the way now."

"So its to be rape, then," guessed Idrisar with another swallow. 

"You misunderstand," corrected the spirit singer.  He stopped petting Idrisar’s erection through the blanket and he cupped the side of his head with his hand, nuzzling and kissing his neck and ear again.  "I’ll give you pleasure like none you’ve ever felt before, and you’re going to beg me for it, before I’m finished.  You may hate me, you may despise what I am, but you _will_ want me with every cell in your body.  Your own moans of pleasure will betray every curse you aim at me, and only when you’ve surrendered to me will I relieve the burning need I’ve given you.  No matter what you think of me now, Agent, your body will be mine.  Once that happens, your mind will catch up and your resistance will fade.”

Idrisar narrowed his eyes, refusing to let the other man’s words frighten or anger him to distraction.  “You’re insane.  Even if you _do_ somehow succeed in forcing physical cooperation from me, it will only be my body, Tsyther.  You won’t have my mind, no matter what you do to me.”

Tsyther’s confident expression faded into subtle annoyance.  “Confident, aren’t you?  I’ve broken wills just as strong as yours before, kitten, and you have _no_ idea how determined I am to get the information I want.  That, combined with how sensually appealing I find you, gives me more than enough incentive to use every method at my disposal to turn you.”

"You’re in for a disappointment," promised Idrisar.

"We’ll see.  For now, I have business with your sons to attend.  It seems if I want something done right, I have to do it myself."

Idrisar finally lost a bit of control, and he unconsciously strained against his bonds as the sire got up and started walking back to the door.  Tsyther stopped and slowly turned to look at him, grinning.  Idrisar went still, realizing he’d specifically told him that to get a reaction out of him.  He refused to give him the satisfaction and he stared up at the ceiling mutely, going limp in the bed.

"Don’t worry," soothed Tsyther before he opened the door.  "I’ll have my people dress you in clean clothes, feed you and see to your bathroom needs.  I hope you don’t mind using a bedpan."

Idrisar badly wanted to take a page from Agent Glaive’s book and tell the man to go fuck himself, but he remained stubbornly silent.  Tsyther shrugged and closed the door behind him, leaving Idrisar alone again.  When he was gone, the lifebearer shut his eyes and began to tremble uncontrollably, in spite of himself.  He had never felt so violated, and he knew it would only get worse, if Tsyther made good on his promise.  Even that wasn’t as distressing as the thought of watching his sons or grandsons get tortured, violated or killed.  Idrisar prayed that the agency would keep them safe for him. 

* * *

 

"I don’t understand!"  Ethan curled into a fetal position and gagged as his mentor kicked him in the ribs again.  "What did I do wrong?"

"So many things," answered the taller sire in an eerily calm voice.  He paused in his kicking and he squatted before his gasping minion, staring into his pain-fogged eyes.  "Let me count your recent mistakes, shall I?  First, you went behind my back and sent an arcane bomb to the Alliance Headquarters in my name.  Not only was it easily handled, but it also put them on the alert.  You moved without my orders and you moved poorly."

"I only did it for you," pleaded the blond, "to keep them off balance!  They should live in fear of what you may do next."

Tsyther sneered at him.  “All you managed to do was make them tighten security further.  Well done.  Now, let’s discuss the rest of your errors.  You struck my prisoner without my consent, and _now_ I discover that you’ve lost my hacker.  Tell me, in what way do your recent actions benefit my cause, boy?”

"Th-the hacker lost his nerve," Ethan tried to reason.  "I swear to you, I’ll find him and dispose of him for you, Mentor.  Please, let me redeem myself." 

He took one of Tsyther’s gloved hands in his and got to his knees, rubbing his cheek against it fawningly before looking up at the man with a kind of obsessive love in his eyes.  “Please.”

Tsyther considered him for a moment, and then he combed his fingers through the short-trimmed blond hair.  “I want results from now on, not excuses.  I’ve suffered enough disappointments.  I can only threaten Blackbird so much, while I remain empty-handed.”

"You’ll break him," insisted Ethan with confidence.  "He’ll buckle to your power, Mentor."

Tsyther smirked without humor.  “Your faith in me is well-placed, but your disdain for him is foolish.  Do _not_ underestimate this lifebearer, Ethan.”

* * *

 

At approximately half past six that morning, Sebastian Winfield announced to his companions that he had coordinates to investigate.  The overworked sorcerers huddled together in the square and discussed the matter, while Vurkanan immediately began to work an enchantment into a compass.  Agent Rose saw what he was doing and she nodded, impressed. 

"A little old fashioned with the satellite tracking available today, but in this case, it might work better than conventional methods."

"Indeed," murmured Vurkanan.  "Now if you’ll pardon me, I have a mountainous sire to give this to."

* * *

 

When Vurkanan arrived at Alliance Headquarters to hand over the charmed item to Director Ammiteo, he discovered that the head Avras branch in Cothmere sent people to lock things down and investigate the goings-on.  Men, women and lashran in the uniform of the Cothmere agency were now inspecting the building and questioning people.  Vurkanan spotted Agent Wolfe in the corridor and he hurried up to him and pulled him aside to get more information.

"I heard people talking about a takeover when I arrived," muttered the sorcerer, frowning at the newcomers walking the hallways.  "Were they exaggerating?"

Haden covered a yawn and shook his head.  “Nope.  They showed up about an hour ago, without any warning.  Seems they think our branch is compromised now, and they’re putting out the order that all personnel come back to HQ for questioning.  They’re going to lock the place up tight, once everyone is accounted for.  I hear they’re doing the same at the Bargel guild.”

Vurkanan sighed and begged the ancestors for patience.  “What will this mean for the rescue effort, then?”

Haden didn’t look a bit happy as he regarded him.  “All operations will be frozen, until the main branch says otherwise.  They’ll probably have their people take up where we left off, but it’ll be _hours_ before they start on that.  They’ve got to get all the details, first.”

"Agent Blackbird may not _have_ hours,” protested Vurkanan, “and the longer he’s in this madman’s hands, the more compromised this organization is going to get.  Did your people _tell_ them that?”

"Probably," answered Haden in frustrated tones, "but I can tell you right now, they’re going to do everything by the book and the more we push back, the more they’ll clamp down.  Anyone caught being insubordinate could be brought up on charges.  These guys don’t mess around."

Glaive came up behind them and spoke in a low voice, startling Vurkanan so badly he jumped.  “They have all three branches of the VF alliance firmly under their heels.”  His coral gaze slid over the newcomers narrowly and his lips were compressed with irritation.  “Legally, all of our hands are tied.  I’m prepared to risk a spanking and go against orders, if I must.”

"Don’t, man," warned Haden with a shake of his head.  "Rebelling right now could wind up putting you in prison for years!  We’ve got to trust the directors to work with these guys and convince them we’ve got things handled."

Glaive sighed.  “That’s the problem, mate…we _don’t_ have things handled.  If we did, Blackbird wouldn’t have gotten snatched to begin with, because he would have had the backup he needed right away.”

"Okay, so we screwed up," conceded the knight, "but we aren’t going to make things better by going against our superiors."

The lishere gave his partner a fond but exasperated look.  “Following orders is all well and good when those orders make some bloody sense, but every moment they waste fucking around puts Agent Blackbird in greater danger.  As Mr. Darshaw already pointed out, it also puts this organization further at risk.  We need to act, and if that means getting brought up on charges and losing my badge, so be it.”

 ”Just a moment,” urged Vurkanan.  “While I admire your testicular fortitude, there are other avenues to explore—that won’t result in the death of your career.”

Glaive tilted his head with intrigue.  “Such as?”

"Well, they’re retaining members of the organization," reminded Vurkanan.  He spread his hands gracefully and smirked.  "But I’m not a part of this organization, am I?  Neither is Aurora.  Neither is Mr. Saber.  The three of us are free agents, so to speak.  They can’t charge us with insubordination."

"But they could charge you with obstruction of justice and vigilante recklessness," warned Haden, "especially Saber.  He’s still got charges of criminal mischief against him in this country and his cooperation with the Alliance is the only reason he’s not in the slammer or deported, right now."

Glaive frowned at him.  “Whose side are you _on_ , Wolfe?  Do you _want_ Sandman to get what he’s after?”

"No!" Haden protested, a tad too loudly.  He shot a hasty look around and lowered his voice before speaking again.  "I’m just making sure Darshaw knows what he could be getting into, if he goes against these guys.  I can’t _make_ any of you follow the rules and I’m about ready to break a few myself!”

"Both of you, calm down," Vurkanan advised.  Unbeknownst to the two agents, he’d erected a bubble of quiet and an illusion around them, making their presence from normal vision and hearing.  "I appreciate the concern, but I’m aware of the risks and I’m willing to take them.  My wildcat and I have had plenty of…disputes…with the authorities in the past.  We know how to handle bullheaded do-gooders that are too blinded by their morals to see the damage they’re doing.  The two of you should just work within the rules for now and let us at least attempt to handle things in the meantime.  You can have your rebellion when you have confirmation that our efforts have failed, deal?"

Knight and Ulvari looked at one another and shrugged in unison.  “Fine by me,” answered Haden.  “Glaive?  Think you can hold back for a while?”

"I’m willing to give them twelve hours," answered the lishere, his pink gaze settling on Vurkanan.  "After that, I make no promises."

"Fair enough," sighed Vurkanan. 

At least Agent Glaive had the advantage of Ulvari training _and_ spirit singing to get him out of this place undetected.  His partner couldn’t say the same and Vurkanan feared that Haden’s loyalty to the lishere would land him into trouble he might have avoided.  He couldn’t worry about that right now, though.  Haden was safe for the moment and Vurkanan had made a vow to both Ammiteo _and_ Aurora that he would help rescue Agent Blackbird.

* * *

 

"What do you _mean_ , he’s been arrested?” 

Vurkanan refrained from tearing his hair out as he stared up at the Ulvari director incredulously.  Just when he thought the morning couldn’t get any worse, he went to Ammiteo’s office to ask for access to residential wing and got another unpleasant surprise.  Behind him, Haden and Glaive looked just as shocked.  The knight spoke up first.

"What did he do, Director?"

"Nothing," answered Ammiteo with a frown.  "But our superiors evidently decided it wasn’t acceptable to allow him or his men to come and go as they please.  They took Mr. Saber into custody shortly after they arrived, and they are holding him until this investigation finishes or the head office sends word to release him."

"What about Azurel?" asked Haden with concern.

"He doesn’t have a criminal record anywhere on Wyndrah," answered Ammiteo, "and he has the proper visiting papers.  They’re letting him stay in the suite, but he isn’t allowed to leave the building.  He’ll probably be questioned about the case and Zevian’s involvement in it."

Glaive punched his open palm with his fist in frustration.  “What about our lashran allies?  I wouldn’t count on the Nandar Ulvari to lift a finger, but the Rhuidhim branch might be able to help with this.”

Ammiteo nodded, evidently having come to a similar conclusion.  “I’ve sent an appeal to the Rhuidhim Ulvari guild to overrule the Avras branch and grant me temporary, full autonomy of this Ulvari department, but in doing so, I risk starting some in-fighting.  The Alliance is meant to work in conjunction and the top authorities in all three Avran branches have agreed to this investigation.  Going over their heads to undermine their decision will come with repercussions, but they’ve left me little choice.”

He looked at Vurkanan, his chiseled features tense with stress.  “I don’t suppose any of the Bargel moved out, before returning to their guild?”

Vurkanan shook his head.  “I’m afraid not.  Once we confirmed the basic coordinates of Blackbird’s most likely recent location, we all fucked off to our respective teams to report in and prepare.”  Realizing he was starting to sound like Aurora in his frustration, he cleared his throat.  “Pardon my language.  I’m just tired and angry about this whole thing.  We weren’t notified of this takeover or some of us might have tried to scout the trail and see if we could locate Blackbird.”

"They issued a gag order when they came in," explained Ammiteo grimly.  "Until notified otherwise, no personnel of any branch are permitted to discuss what’s happening here outside this building."

"They took away our cell phones," Haden sighed.  "I forgot to mention that."

"But we may have a location, now," Vurkanan said.  "Do you think informing them of that would make a difference?"

"They would probably send someone to check it out," predicted Ammiteo, "but first they would go through the chain of command and wait for a response from the Cothmere Alliance council, before going through with it."

"For people who claim we need their guidance to accomplish this," Glaive growled, "they’re taking their sweet time demonstrating their so-called ‘efficiency’."

"They can only do so much until they have all of the information they need," reminded Ammiteo.  "And yes, they _are_ moving quickly, considering the people they’ve sent are just coming into this case.  I just can’t wait for them to satisfy their protocol before taking action.  We have the chance to move in on Sandman and rescue Blackbird, and I want to take it before it’s gone.”

Ammiteo’s speaker beeped, then.  “Sir, Director Kent is coming to see you,” informed Ceindar through the unit.  “Shall I ask him to wait?”

"No, thank you," answered Ammiteo as he pressed down on the response button.  "Send him right in, please."

* * *

 

When Kent arrived, Vurkanan informed him of his intentions and Ammiteo confessed to making an appeal to the Rhuidhim Ulvari for intervention.  The knight director took a seat and rubbed his forehead with a sigh.

"Are you sure you want to go down this road, Ammiteo?  It took us a long time and a lot of effort to get our people working in synch."

"What I _want_ is my agent returned to me in one piece, and this organizations secrets to remain _secret_ ,” Ammiteo answered firmly, beyond caring if his choice offended any of his knight allies.  “Right now, a man’s life is at stake and he’s responsible for a _lot_ of the progress we’ve made this year.”

Kent held his hands up in a pacifying gesture.  “Okay, take it easy.  I’m just saying it could damage people’s trust, if the Ulvari branch segregates.  On the other hand, if it was one of my people and I had the option to go over the council’s head to get some results, I’d probably do it too.”

"I daresay your people will understand why Director Ammiteo chose this," Vurkanan guessed.  "Agent Blackbird seems to be well-liked by his peers, and I’m sure they would prefer to see him returned alive than to see you pass up the chance to rescue him."

"Let’s hope your observation is right," Ammiteo said grimly, "because I’ve made up my mind about this, and—"

"Excuse me, Director," interrupted the secretary again, "you have a call from Master Talith of Rhuidhim on your private line."

Ammiteo’s brows went up.  “That was fast.”  He pressed the response button and reached for his desk phone.  “Thank you, Ceindar.”

Ammiteo put the phone to his ear while the others watched on.  “This is Ammiteo.  Yes sir, thank you for getting back to me so quickly.  What was the decision?”  His expression fell and he shut his eyes.  “I see.  No, it’s perfectly understandable.  I wouldn’t have made the request if I didn’t feel it was the best choice.  Thank you, Master Talith.  I’ll let you know how it turns out.”

Glaive guessed the answer by his reactions.  “They aren’t going to intervene, are they?”

"No."  Ammiteo hung the phone back up and sat back in his chair, heaving a sigh.  "They don’t want to get involved.  They’ll send agents to help with the case if requested, but they won’t overrule the Alliance authority over this department.  It was a long shot, but I didn’t have much time to plead my case and I think I would just make it worse by insisting they rethink the decision."

Vurkanan stood up, checking the digital clock on the wall.  “Well, that’s it, then.  I’d best get going while the getting is good.  My wildcat awaits and the trail won’t get any hotter than this.”

Ammiteo got out of his chair and circled around the desk to stand before the sorcerer.  He offered his hand for Vurkanan to shake.  “Good luck, Darshaw.  Contact me the moment you have something to report, please.”

"Absolutely," assured the lifebearer.  "Oh," Vurkanan said, remembering something.  He dug something out of a pocket in his vest and handed it over to the director.  "Take this, in case things straighten out here."

"A compass?" Haden said with puzzlement. 

"I have the coordinates you gave me," Ammiteo said, "but thank you."

"This isn’t an ordinary compass," explained Vurkanan.  "It’s attuned to Agent Blackbird’s aura.  It will lead you to him, when you’re close enough."

Kent frowned dubiously.  “You’re sure that will work?”

Vurkanan arched a haughty brow at the human.  “It’s one of the oldest, most reliable enchantments at my disposal, sir.  My family carried charmed compasses for years, in the event that someone went missing.”  He looked back at Ammiteo.  “If he’s still alive, this _will_ lead you to him.”

"Don’t you need it, then?" reasoned Haden.  "I mean, we’re all stuck here for now.  You’re the one going scouting."

"I charmed the compass with the intention of giving it over to someone without my magical abilities," answered Vurkanan.  "My divination generally leaves much to be desired, but once I have an energy signature and a heading, I can find my target.  Now, try not to despair.  I’m off to meet up with my wildcat."

Vurkanan stepped away from them, murmured an arcane phrase under his breath and touched the crystal pendant hanging around his throat.  With a brief flash of light, he was gone.  The agents stood in the office blinking after he vanished, waiting for their vision to clear.

"Something just occurred to me," Kent said, breaking the silence.  "That guy could be heading for a confrontation with Sandman and gods know how many of his goons.  I know he’s good and I’m sure this woman he’s meeting up with has some skills too, but I don’t like the odds."

"I’m sure they’ll avoid confrontation until help arrives," reasoned Ammiteo.  "Right now, they’re just trying to _find_ him.”

"But what if they won’t send backup?" Haden said.

"Don’t be ridiculous," scoffed Kent.  "They’re not going to leave an agent in the hands of terrorists if they have positive confirmation of where they are."

"Have you forgotten that these people think we’re all a bunch of slack-jawed yokels?" challenged Glaive.  "First, they’ll question why a pair of foreign outsiders have the information our department has thus far failed to provide.  Then they’ll say they need someone reliable to confirm the claim, before they even begin to mobilize.  This operation is frozen because those wankers don’t trust our judgment or abilities, so they aren’t likely to go rushing in for a sting operation on the word of ‘civilians’."

"You’ve got a smart mouth on you, Agent," Kent said with a scowl, "but you make a good point."

Ammiteo looked down at the keychain compass in his palm and he closed his fingers over it, coming to a decision.  “Then I’d better make sure they aren’t going alone.”

All three of his companions stared at him with surprise.

"Who exactly do you have in mind for this endeavor, sir?" Glaive queried.  The expression on his face said he was ready for action.

"Me," answered the director.  "I’ve worked in the background long enough, and I still need to protect my people.  They can’t punish any of you for my actions, and I can’t sit here letting others take all the risks for me.  If anyone asks, I want you all to deny having any knowledge that I intended to do this.  Our discussion in this room never went further than my failed attempt to involve the Rhuidhim Ulvari-vash, understand?"

"Now wait a minute, Director," Glaive started to protest, but he took one look at the resolve in Ammiteo’s purple eyes and he sighed.  "Well, I was prepared to risk my ass for less reason than you’ve got to rescue Blackbird.  At least allow us to help you.  I can use my spirit singing abilities to—"

"No," refused the director.  "They could send in another spirit singer to investigate and since Saber is incarcerated right now, any evidence they find that someone used those abilities to help me will point straight to you.  This building isn’t on complete lockdown yet and I haven’t argued publicly with the other agency reps over this matter.  I should be able to slip out before anyone notices I’m gone."

"Hmph…but a distraction couldn’t hurt," Kent suggested, rubbing his chin. 

"What sort of distraction?" asked Ammiteo.

* * *

 

People were still trying to adjust to the unexpected takeover when the morning was thrown into further chaos by a gratuitous fistfight.  Vandrin was walking down the hallway with a bagel in his mouth and a coffee in his hand, when it happened.  He couldn’t rightly say whose fault it was, though in his lingering prejudice, he assumed Glaive started it.  All he knew for certain was one minute, Agent Glaive was walking toward him with his partner at his side and the next, he shoved one of the visiting Ulvari agents against the wall and shouted an accusation at him.

"Who in the _hell_ do you think you are?” cried the lishere in a deeply offended tone.  “Get your fucking hands _off_ me!”

The Cothmere agent looked completely startled, but he quickly retaliated.  “I don’t know what your problem is, you freak, but—”

“ _What_ did you just call me?” Glaive demanded angrily.  “You think my heritage gives you the right to touch me however you want?”

"Guys, calm down," Agent Wolfe advised as a crowd gathered in the corridor.  "I’m sure it was just a mistake."

“ _Touch_ you?” yelled the sire, his cheeks going ruddy with anger, humiliation or both.  “What makes you think I’d want to touch a mutant like you?  You’re crazy!”

"Whoa."  Haden’s amicable tone quickly hardened and he frowned at the visitor.  "Put the bigotry on ice, pal.  Whatever’s going on here, there’s no excuse for—"

"You _sick weirdo_!”  The sire suddenly lunged at Glaive, who had waggled his tongue at him from over Haden’s shoulder.  “I’ll _touch_ you all right…with my _fist_!”

Unfortunately, Haden jumped in the way right as the Ulvari’s fist swung out and he copped the right hook intended for his partner.  He rubbed his jaw, glared at the sire, and threw diplomacy into the wind.

"Oh, it’s _on_.”

Vandrin’s brows shot up as the knight tackled the visiting sire.  Haden moved with impressive speed for a human, and he seemed to be evenly matched with the Ulvari agent.  Glaive stood there looking like he couldn’t decide whether to break it up or join his partner, but the decision was made for him by Director Kent.

"All right, break it up!"  The human director grabbed Haden by the back of his jacket and interposed between him and the sire he was fighting.  "I said that’s enough!  What the hell is your problem, Wolfe?"

Haden wiped at his bleeding lip and glared at his opponent.  “The guy took a swing at me.”

"Technically, he took a swing at _me_ ,” corrected Glaive.

"After you yelled that ridiculous accusation," countered the visitor.  "I was just minding my own business when this… _lishere_ …shoved me against the wall and started yelling at me!”

"I tend to do that when people touch me inappropriately."  Glaive shrugged.

"That’s a lie!"

"Director Kent," called a suited human woman, who pushed through the crowd.  "I demand an explanation for this!  We are here to do a _job_ and I can’t have your people assaulting mine on a whim!”

"I apologize," Kent said to the woman.  He glared at the two operatives.  "I’m putting your asses in detention.  You can cool your heels there and think about how you want to handle misunderstandings from now on, got it?"

Neither of them argued and Vandrin rather enjoyed seeing them led off by the director like scolded kids.  He caught a brief glimpse of his cousin at the other end of the hallway and he wondered why he hadn’t intervened like Kent, but he supposed Ammiteo trusted the human director to take care of the matter.  He noticed that Ammiteo was heading to the elevator and he followed him.

* * *

 

"Director, wait up."

Ammiteo cursed.  He turned to look at his cousin, who was hurrying toward him from around the corner with a half-eaten bagel in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

"I really don’t have time to talk," Ammiteo warned him.

"It’ll only take a minute."  Vandrin gave the door a puzzled look.  "What’s up?"

Ammiteo cast a covert look around and decided that it wasn’t worth the risk of rousing suspicion to stand there trying to explain himself to the other man.  The elevator doors opened and he stepped inside, gesturing at Vandrin to join him. 

"Come on.  Make it fast."

Vandrin stepped in and once the doors were shut, Ammiteo selected the parking garage floor.  “What do you need, Vandrin?”

"Well, since they showed up here I’ve been bumped off duty," answered the smaller sire.  "Since I’m not officially reinstated yet, they just kicked me off the case and told me not to leave until I’m told I can go.  Not only am I stuck here, but I’m not getting paid for my time."

"I’ll see what I can do to improve the situation, when I have the chance," promised Ammiteo.  "Right now, my hands are tied.  I’m sorry you got dragged into this Vandrin, but I wasn’t expecting them to take over and freeze the operation.  I can give you some money to cover basic expenses while you’re here and you can rest in my office, until I can set you up with a suite."

"That’s cool, but I want to help with the rescue operation," insisted Vandrin.  "That’s the main reason I’m here.  Isn’t there something you can do to—"

"No," interrupted Ammiteo, on the verge of losing his temper.  "I can’t even get my active teams on the case, now.  They’ve taken over, understand?  It’s out of our hands, officially."

"Then where are you going?" Vandrin nodded at the lit button indicating the floor they were descending to.  "I thought nobody was supposed to leave."

Ammiteo realized that he had to choose between trusting his cousin and knocking him out, then.  He looked at the other man thoughtfully, trying to judge how sincere he was about helping Idrisar.  “Do you really care for Agent Blackbird, or is this all just to get your job back?”

Vandrin hesitated, appearing reluctant to answer the question.  Finally, he sighed and answered him.  “Yes, I really care about him.  I think I might even love him a little, okay?  All I know is since you showed up at my apartment and told me what happened, all I can think about is getting him away from that psycho.  Thinking of him dead _hurts_ , man.”

The director stared into his cousin’s eyes and deduced that he was telling the truth.  “Okay.  If you really mean all of that, you have to stop asking questions now.”

Vandrin looked openly perplexed.  “Why?  What’s going on?”

"That sounded like questions, to me." 

Ammiteo glanced upwards briefly, meaningfully.  His cousin followed his glance with his eyes and he finally seemed to catch on.  The elevators were equipped with security cameras and Ammiteo didn’t want to take the chance and though there was no sound, he didn’t want to risk saying more.  They could easily get someone that could read lips to review the security feeds if they investigated his defection.

"I don’t want to talk about Agent Blackbird’s situation right now," Ammiteo said for the benefit of the camera.  "I’ve had enough frustration this morning.  You can come with me to the grocers, if you want.  I’ll vouch for you."

For a minute, Ammiteo feared his cousin was suffering another dense moment and wouldn’t comprehend the hidden message.  Vandrin’s face screwed up and Ammiteo fully expected him to ask how the hell he could think of food at a time like this.  Again, Vandrin caught on after a moment and he shrugged, though his eyes were full of unasked questions.

"Something tells me this will be my last chance to set foot outside this building for a few days, so sure."

Ammiteo nodded.

* * *

 

"Okay, listen up," Ammiteo said to his cousin as he drove his car to the parking garage exit, "I’m going to go around the block and drop you off.  I’d advise you to go straight back to headquarters, because if you don’t, they’ll send people to bring you in.  Everyone who’s worked at HQ since the Sandman case started is being called in for questioning."

"I understand that," answered Vandrin, "but you still haven’t told me what you’re up to.  What’s happening, Cuz?"

He was just going to keep asking until Ammiteo gave him an answer, and he knew if he didn’t, he would end up having to physically force the tenacious bastard out of his car.  “While the Cothmere agency was taking over our facilities this morning, some of our Bargel associates were at the scene of the kidnapping, trying to divine Agent Blackbird’s whereabouts.  They succeeded in procuring coordinates, but not before our operation was frozen.  We can’t officially send anyone to investigate this location.  I could inform the Cothmere reps of this, but I know they won’t mobilize until they’ve had the chance to investigate themselves.”

"So nobody’s even going to check it out?" Vandrin looked incredulous. 

"Actually, Shard is going to do that now."

"Wait, alone?  What if Sandman’s there?  I know that sexy thing’s got some mad magic skills, but—"

"Vandrin," warned Ammiteo, "You’re going to have to stop underestimating lifebearers…particularly the ones that are more skilled and experienced than you are.  Shard has an ally working with him and I’m going to help.  Forests willing, we can locate Blackbird and have him freed and safe again soon, one way or the other.  I need you to keep this to yourself, though."

"I will," agreed Vandrin.  "But I’m coming with you."

Ammiteo sighed.  “Vandrin—”

"Look, you asked me to come back because you said the agency could use all the help it can get to rescue Blackbird, right?"

"Well, yes." 

"And that was _before_ these guys from the capital showed up and put a big kink in the works.  The way I see it, you need me now more than ever.  You’re down from a whole organization to three people on this.  Let me help.”

Ammiteo stared at his cousin until the driver in a car behind him beeped his horn impatiently.  He checked the traffic and turned out onto the street.  “Okay.  I may regret this later, but you’re right…we could use you.  We’ll stop by my place first to gear up and then we’ll hit the trail and try to contact Shard.”

* * *

 

-To be continued     


	23. Chapter 23

* * *

Zevian looked up with a frown of confusion as a pair of familiar agents were led into the cell next to his and locked up.  He glanced at Therril and Johnny before getting off the bench and walking over to the bars separating them.

"So, what are _you_ in for?”

Glaive shrugged.  “Flirtation.”

"Eh?"  Zevian raised a brow.

"Glaive picked a fight," Haden muttered, rubbing a rapidly bruising jaw.

"Then why are you the one with the marks for it?" Zevian nodded meaningfully at the human agent.

Haden gave his partner a sidelong look and his wolf-like eyes were faintly resentful.  “I got sucked into his vortex of craziness.”

Glaive looked slightly indignant and he waited until the guards shut the door behind them before responding.  “I didn’t expect _you_ to cop it, mate.”

"Well, you could have warned me," grumbled the knight.

"I did!" Insisted Glaive.

Haden shook his head.  “You told me to follow your lead.  You didn’t tell me you were going to pick a fight!”

"Well, what else would you have me do?" snapped the lishere, " _Something_ had to be done.”

Zevian practiced caution with his words, sensing that there was more to this than an impromptu brawl. “So you fought with someone.  Was it one of the visiting agents?”

"Yeah, and he clocked me good," answered Haden.

Glaive checked his partner’s jaw with a subtle wince of regret.  “Again, I’m sorry for that.  His fight was with me.”

"I hate to be nosey," interrupted Zevian before the knight could respond, "but what’s going on with Blackbird?  Are they doing anything to find him, or are they too busy tossing the wrong cats in jail?"

Haden and Glaive glanced at each other before the latter responded.  Glaive’s pink eyes flicked to the wall outside the cell, drawing notice to the security camera in the corner of the ceiling.  “They have a precious little ‘process’ to work through, before they take up where we left off on the rescue efforts.  Obviously, it’s put some of us into a state of impatience.”

-

He could hardly believe his ears.  Zevian gave a frowning glance to his companions, who appeared just as confused as he was.  “You’re shitting me.”

"They figure it’s more important to secure this place first and get all the details, before they go after Agent Blackbird," Haden explained unhappily.

"Do they?" Zevian’s temper began to boil.  "Had it ever occurred to these nut-less wonders that by leaving him in their hands, they’re only endangering their security more?"

"Preach," sighed Haden, raising one subtly bruised hand.  "Good luck convincing them, though."

Zevian stared between the bars at the two of them, and his hands tightened around the cool metal.  “I don’t _believe_ this shit.  Someone’s got to do something.”  He looked at Glaive accusingly, narrowing his aqua eyes.  “You could waltz right out of here like the wind, if you wanted to.  What’s stopping you?”

Glaive looked up from his seat beside Haden and he stared into the guild lord’s eyes levelly.  “Common sense, for one.  If I vanish from this cell, they will investigate.  That’s more time and effort leeched away from finding Blackbird.  You would all be questioned, resulting in yet _more_ distractions.  For the time being, this is the best place for me to be.”

Zevian parted his lips to argue that point, but Glaive spoke into his mind before he could get a word out.

_~”Just trust me, Mr. Saber.  There is an unofficial scouting effort being conducted as we speak.  Agent Blackbird isn’t being abandoned, by any means.  We have to give them time.  The Alliance authorities can’t be counted on until they mobilize their collective asses, so please, simmer down.”~_

Zevian felt a stirring of hope to lift the terrible dread he’d been feeling since Idrisar’s kidnapping.  He gathered his control carefully, took a slow breath, and nodded.  “You’re right,” he said aloud to Glaive.  “This is the best place for you to be, right now.”

Mentally, he responded back to the lishere with difficulty.  _~”How many people are on this?  Enough to put up a fight if they run into opposition?”~_

Glaive smirked.  _~”They’re few in numbers, but strong in ferocity.  I trust your sire will be unpleasantly surprised by their strength, if he picks a fight with them.”~_

* * *

 

_Meanwhile, somewhere in Avras:_

Idrisar wandered a confused labyrinth in his mind.  Tsyther had threatened to go and “take care of business” with his sons, yet he returned again and worked his foul manipulations over the hapless agent.  Idrisar lost track of time in his struggle to retain his sense of Self and keep his knowledge well-hidden.  He was unaware that his screams filled the compound they were holding him in, until some of the men working with his captor began to feel pity and have doubts.  He hardly felt it when he bit through his own lip, until blood flowed. 

The mental anguish stopped after a while and when Idrisar awoke again, he felt warmth all through his body.  He frowned in confusion when he heard a familiar, Zarnian-accented voice speak to him.

"What did he _do_ to you, baby?”

Idrisar licked dry lips and dared to open his eyes.  Zevian Saber leaned over him with a frown of concern, his turquoise blue gaze sweeping over him.  “Zev…ian?”

The mafia lord glanced up at the sound of his name, his ponytail hanging down over his left shoulder as he loomed over Idrisar.  “At least you still know _my_ name.  How about _yours_ , gorgeous?  You know who you are, right?”

 ”I know who I am,” answered Idrisar as evenly as possible.  He noted that he was still bound to the bed.  He heard the sounds of a struggle outside, along with gunfire.  “Where is he?”

Zevian glanced over his shoulder toward the door.  “No idea.  The raid stared just a few minutes ago and they let me in on it because I’ve got inside knowledge.  Don’t worry, kid.  They’ll get him and I’m here, now.”

Idrisar shut his eyes, struggling to pull his thoughts together.  “Zevian, get me out of these cuffs.”

"Sure," agreed the sire, looking around.  "As soon as I find a key."

"Just pick the locks," suggested Idrisar. 

Zevian frowned, his gaze sliding to the cuffs holding the lifebearer prisoner.  “Hmm.  Might be easier said than done.”  He stroked Idrisar’s cheek with calloused fingertips.  “Are you okay?  Did he hurt you?”

The agent sighed at the touch, turning his head to one side.  “Not enough to matter.  Just find a way to get me free, will you?”

"I will," promised Zevian.  His breath sighed over Idrisar’s lips as he hovered closer.  "But your safety comes first, Blackbird.  When I found out he took you, I…dammit, I…"

Idrisar looked up at him in time to see Zevian’s handsome face descending.  He felt the pressure of his lips against his and he stiffened, stricken by a moment of profound clarity.

"Nice try," Idrisar mumbled against the sire’s mouth.

"Zevian" paused.  Idrisar half-expected him to voice some kind of denial, but he raised his head, looked down on him and banished the mental illusion.  Zevian’s face blurred, to be replaced by the more rugged, un-naturally smooth face of his sire.

"What gave it away, exactly?"  He looked honestly curious.

Idrisar refused to look away.  “For all his impulsive faults, not even Zevian would hit on me at a time like this.  The attitude and language is undoubtedly his, but you fell short on class.  You underestimate both my intelligence and his integrity, Tsyther.  I’m almost disappointed.”

Rather than be infuriated or flustered, Tsyther merely shrugged and smiled.  “I played that card too soon, I see.  No matter.  I have plenty of time to probe your barriers, sweet one.  I know your weaknesses.”

Idrisar kept his expression blank.  “So you believe.”

Tsyther chuckled and got up.  “You give away more, each time.  It’s certainly a challenge, but I _will_ break you, Agent Blackbird.  Now, I can’t tarry longer.  My previously delayed business is ready to be conducted.  Sweet dreams, kitten.”

Idrisar familiarized himself with the pipework on the ceiling again, until his tormentor was gone.  Once the door was shut, he shut his eyes and sighed, allowing himself a brief respite from the rigid mental clenching.  Tsyther thought he would get to him through illusions of Zevian, but Idrisar had tricked him.  Zevian wasn’t the sire he longed to open his eyes and see, now.  The fact that Tsyther hadn’t figured that out yet proved to Idrisar that he hadn’t gleaned as much from his mind as he let on. 

The left corner of the captive agent’s lip curved up subtly and he thanked the forests for his small victory.        

* * *

 

Ammiteo drove out of the city limits with his cousin, keeping a close eye on the compass as he went.  He had it sitting in the open, unused ashtray so that he could watch it for any directional changes as he followed the trajectory given to him by Vurkanan.  He had made a quick stop to buy a pre-paid mobile phone and dialed Vurkanan’s contact number by memory.  The agency hadn’t had the chance to confiscate the sorcerer’s phone before he teleported, so luckily they were able to organize a rendezvous point near Idrisar’s suspected location.

"So what is that compass supposed to do, exactly?" Vandrin asked with a nod at the object.  He took his own compass out of a pocket and frowned, comparing them.  "It isn’t pointing North."

"No," agreed Ammiteo.  "It’s pointing to Blackbird."

"Seriously?"  Vandrin gave the compass another dubious look.  "Huh.  So it’s been enchanted?"

"By Shard," answered the director.  He saw an exit coming up and he peered at it narrowly.  "This is the one." 

He pulled off the highway and glanced at the compass again before accelerating.  His temporary phone started to ring and he quickly picked up.  “Ammiteo.”

"Agent, we’ve found a factory about a half a mile away from our agreed meeting point," Vurkanan said on the other line.  His voice broke up a bit on the next part.  "…scouting now.  It has…storage facility and…men."

"I’m sorry," Ammiteo said, "but I need you to repeat that last part."

"I said Aurora is scouting now," Vurkanan obliged, coming through clearer.  "The facility has a factory and storage buildings, and there are several people wandering around inside the compound."

"And you’re sure these are Sandman’s people?" Ammiteo pressed, containing hope within caution.  The last thing they needed was to break into a legitimate factory operation and end up facing terrorism charges.

"The men I saw were dressed for combat, like the ones in the ally when your agent was taken," answered Vurkanan, "and Aurora has already confirmed that they’re heavily armed.  All of my magic workings indicate that Blackbird’s energy is centered somewhere within the compound.  It would be an amazing coincidence if these aren’t Sandman’s people, Director."

"You’ve confirmed his presence?"  Ammiteo couldn’t fully hide the eagerness in his voice.  "Can you tell if he’s alive?"

"If he weren’t, I would have sensed it when I worked my necrotic spell," answered the sorcerer confidently.  "I wanted to know too.  Your agent is alive, Ammiteo.  I mean to keep him that way, as well."

Ammiteo’s relief was so strong that a tremor went through his body.  He nearly blurted thanks to the forests, but he calmed himself and kept his wits.  He somehow remembered to address Vurkanan by his alias.  “Thank you, Shard.  We should arrive at the designated location soon.  I’m sure I don’t need to remind either of you to avoid being seen.”

"Of course," assured the sorcerer.  "You’ll come to an overgrown field before you reach us, and there’s a shed out there where you can park your vehicle to hide it."

Ammiteo honestly hadn’t considered hiding his car, and he was thankful that Vurkanan thought of it.  “Good.  See you soon.”

* * *

 

Idrisar couldn’t be sure how much time had passed before one of Tsyther’s men came in.  The sire had long silver hair and topaz blue eyes.  He was a rather handsome sort, and he didn’t seem as angry as the blond man Idrisar was more familiar with.  The sire came into the room and shut the door behind him, and Idrisar caught a glimpse of a couple of other men in the doorway before it shut.  The silver-haired man regarded him cautiously for a moment before approaching the bed.  He carried a tray of food, which he set on a crate.  To Idrisar’s surprised confusion, he produced a key and unlocked his cuffs.

"Am I being moved?" queried the agent with a frown. 

"No," came the soft answer.

Idrisar rubbed his chafed wrists once they were free of the manacles, working the circulation back into his hands.  He practiced patience as he watched his visitor free his ankles, reminding himself that now was not the best time to strike. 

"Then why are you freeing me from these cuffs?" demanded the agent.  "I doubt your boss would condone it."

The sire finished unlocking the cuffs and he looked up the length of Idrisar’s prone body and met his eyes.  He smiled faintly.  “You don’t understand him, Agent.  Tsyther ordered your restraints removed himself; at least while you eat your meal.”

Idrisar tried to think straight as he sat up in the bed and watched his visitor with wary eyes.  His thoughts kept scattering, and he couldn’t seem to focus.  He had the perfect opportunity to strike out when the sire turned his back to him to get the food tray, but his body seemed to disagree with his mind.  Idrisar stared at the other man with confusion, telling himself that there might not be a better opportunity.  He didn’t move, though.  He sat quietly on the bed and watched as the sire placed the food tray in his lap.  The man didn’t seem concerned at all that he might attack him.

That was when it dawned on him that Tsyther had done something to him.  He could feel it like chains in his mind, suppressing his reactions and keeping him docile.  Tsyther had implanted a compulsory suggestion of some sort that prohibited Idrisar from using violence against his captors.

"What did he do to me?" Idrisar said as evenly as possible.

The silver-haired man wouldn’t look him in the eye.  “You should eat that, while it’s hot.  Keep up your strength.”

Idrisar considered the food in his lap.  It seemed his captors were sincere in their desire to keep him healthy—provided the meal wasn’t drugged.  There was a combo of steamed vegetables, some heated beans and a slice of wholegrain bread.  Evidently, they still believed he was a vegetarian—which came as a small consolation to Idrisar. 

"I’m not hungry."  Idrisar picked up the tray and set it on the crate beside his bed. 

"You _must_ be,” argued the sire.  “The only thing you’ve had since you came here was the soup you threw up.  Eat.  I have some fresh water here for you, too.”

Idrisar gazed up at him levelly as the sire poured a glass for him from the pitcher he’d brought in.  “You first.”

The man glanced at him with a frown.  “Pardon?”

"I’ll eat and drink when I see you take a sip and a bite from what you’re offering me," insisted the lifebearer stubbornly.  "I’m in no hurry to be drugged, you understand."

"You think we’re trying to drug you?"  The sire seemed to find that somewhat amusing.  "Agent Blackbird, Mentor needs no _drugs_ to work his will on you.  In fact, slowing your thought processes would be a detriment to his cause.”

"You don’t say."  Idrisar didn’t budge.  He gave a meaningful nod at the glass that the sire was trying to offer him and he raised his brows expectantly.

The other man looked at the glass, looked at Idrisar and shrugged.  “Very well.  I hope you aren’t worried about sharing germs.”

"At this point, it’s the least of my concerns," assured Idrisar.  He was surprised by how level his voice sounded, given how difficult it was to focus.  He watched as his visitor took a sip of the water and a bite from every food item on the tray. 

"Satisfied?" asked the sire after he had sampled everything.

Idrisar nodded.  “I am.  Thank you.” 

The sire helped him put the tray back onto his lap and he watched as Idrisar began to eat, without real appetite.  “You’re a cool one.  I’d have expected you to be a little less coordinated, after what he put you through.”

Idrisar swallowed a bite and washed it down with a swig of water.  “You sound almost regretful.”

"I haven’t enjoyed your suffering, if that’s what you mean," admitted the sire.  "That’s all I intend to say on the matter."

Idrisar would have liked to believe he was sincere about that, but he honestly couldn’t identify with anyone that would participate in the things Tsyther had done.  He tried to pull his thoughts together as he ate, fighting against an un-natural compulsion placed into his mind by a man that wanted to tame him. 

"Can I at least have your name?" coaxed the agent softly between bites.  "Or your alias?  I’d rather not refer to you as ‘hey you’, if you don’t mind."

"You can call me Lunon."

Understanding that it wasn’t necessarily the man’s given name, Idrisar was gracious about it.  “Well Lunon, thank you for being more or less kind to me.  I won’t enjoy beating you down.”

Lunon frowned briefly at him, and then he smiled a little and shook his head.  “There _is_ a difference between confidence and delusions, Agent.  Mentor has been very thorough about the blocks he put into place in your subconscious, and you have no chance of—”

Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by the food tray flying at his face, followed closely by a painful kick to the groin by Idrisar’s bare foot.

Evidently, Tsyther’s mental compulsions weren’t quite thorough enough to control Idrisar.

* * *

 

Ammiteo hunkered down next to his cousin, on the other side of Vurkanan.  The sorcerer didn’t seem thrilled about squirming through the grass on his belly, but he’d agreed that it was a necessary precaution in case the enemy had ways of seeing through magical invisibility.  The substantial powers of the spirit singers weren’t to be underestimated. 

On Vurkanan’s other side was Aurora, dressed in stretchy, form-fitting clothing of earth tones.  She had already explained the layout of the compound to the two sires and given an approximate headcount of the forces within.  She could account for nearly two dozen men guarding the place, though they didn’t patrol openly and thus, it was difficult to be sure of their numbers. 

"They never have more than six wandering around at a time," she whispered to the men as the four of them crept up closer to the perimeter.  "My guess is they don’t want to attract attention, if anyone happens along this way and sees the place.  Too many men armed to the teeth might raise a brow or two, aye?"

"One would think," agreed Vurkanan.  He turned his silvery gaze to the two sires beside him.  "Every detection spell I’ve worked indicates that Agent Blackbird is somewhere inside there.  Now that we’ve got a layout of the place, you could try calling your people."

"They’d just order him to stand down and head back," predicted Aurora, her delicate lips curving into a frown.  "And then they’d spend and hour or so taking a vote on what to do.  Bunch of _bureaucrats_.”

Ammiteo had to admit the woman seemed to have a reasonable grasp on how the system worked—at least during a takeover.  Still, if he _didn’t_ call it in, they wouldn’t know to send help at all.  He trusted his companions to do their best, but he wasn’t prepared to gamble with Idrisar’s life by refusing all possibility of help. 

"I’m going to call it in," he decided after a moment’s thought.  "I won’t mention any names when they ask who’s with me, and I have no intention of following orders if they insist I stand down.  You should all be aware that I fully intend to go into that place—alone, if I have to.  I won’t blame any of you for bowing out."

Aurora smirked at Vurkanan.  “You’re right, he _is_ a bit like Nicolas.”  She looked over the sorcerer’s back at Ammiteo.  “I can’t speak for your blood relation there, but you’ve got _us_ at your side through and through.  Whatever you decide to do, Vurk and I are with you.”  To emphasize her point, she checked the pistol in her hand and flipped the safety off.

Ammiteo had no idea who Nicolas was, but he was thankful for the support.  He glanced at his cousin and when Vandrin nodded with a determined set to his jaw, he dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed Kent’s office number.

"Kent, it’s me," said the sire into the phone as soon as his partner picked up.  "I’ve confirmed the location and I need backup sent.  I’ll take full responsibility for any charges of insubordination they want to bring up.  Blackbird is inside and we’ll give the agency an hour to send someone, before we go in to retrieve him ourselves.  Here are the coordinates."

Ammiteo took the data pad hastily handed to him by Vandrin and he relayed their location to his friend.  “Do you have that?  Good.  Thank you, my friend.  No, I’m sure it doesn’t need to be said.  Take care of yourself.”

When Ammiteo hung up the phone and replaced it in his pocket, he found his cousin staring at him from behind the lenses of the shades he wore over his eyes.  “Something you want to say?” he demanded of the smaller sire.

"Yeah, actually," answered Vandrin in a whisper.  "Do me a favor and save the death speeches.  Maybe _you’re_ ready to plow grave soil today, but _I’m_ not.”

Ammiteo huffed a brief chuckle and he checked his compass, whilst Vandrin scanned the compound with his collapsible binoculars and Vurkanan discussed possible ambush strategies with Aurora.  The director noticed that the needle on the enchanted compass was wiggling a little; shifting direction so subtly, it was almost imperceptible.  He frowned at it curiously and he was about to ask Vurkanan what it meant, when his cousin’s hissed exclamation caught his attention.

"Whoa…hold it a minute…is that?  Uh…Ammiteo, is that _Blackbird_ crouched up against the back of that building?  Like…naked?”

The absurdity of the question made the director stare at the other sire, but he knew that not even Vandrin would have the poor taste to make a joke like that in a time like this.  He hastily grabbed the binoculars from his slack-jawed cousin to look for himself.  He pointed the visual aid in the direction indicated by Vandrin and spotted Idrisar Blackbird, leaning up against the back of one of the warehouse buildings.  Idrisar was indeed naked, though he was hastily slipping into a pair of pants that appeared to be too big for him.  The late afternoon sun silhouetted his form in a way that might have been artful, if it weren’t for the situation.  The agent appeared to have procured a knife as well and once he had the garments pulled up, he flattened himself against the back of the wall so skillfully that he nearly blended in with it.

Ammiteo’s heart began to thunder in his chest.  He had no _idea_ how Idrisar managed to slip out like that, but it seemed his captors were now aware that he was missing.  There were shouts and men of both human and lashran origin began to come out of the buildings, obviously searching for someone.  There was no sign of Sandman, but Idrisar’s chance to get over the fence and away from the compound would soon be lost.

There wasn’t any choice, not really.  Ammiteo dropped the binoculars, took his guns in hand and spared a quick glance at his companions.  “Cover me.”

"Ammiteo, wait!" Called Vandrin, but the director didn’t pause. 

Ammiteo ran straight toward the fence, trusting his companions to help him make it safely to Blackbird.  Whatever happened after that, at least he would be by Idrisar’s side.

* * *

 

Every step he took was a test of willpower.  His entire being warned him to go back, to give himself up and to stop resisting.  Fortunately for Idrisar, he was accustomed to depriving his body of what it demanded and ignoring the “id” of his unconscious mind.  This worked in his favor and helped him to overcome his captor’s implanted suggestions.  Unfortunately, he had to rely more on primal instinct and less on logic to disobey the directives Tsyther gave to his subconscious.  He couldn’t recall anything in that brief skirmish with Lunon and the two men that came in to aid him, other than a feeling of animal desperation and the impact of flesh on his fists, feet, elbows and knees. 

He couldn’t even recall whose pants he’d stolen once he’d vanquished them.  It had been an afterthought; a notion of practicality in a mind that was too fractured and confused to worry about modesty.  He needed some protection from the elements and some pockets to hold things, and he needed something sharp.  He took what he could and he got out.

Now he had on a pair of oversized combat pants and he had a knife in his hand, but he had no idea where to go.  He saw the fence several yards away and he almost made a break for it, but then people began to shout and he knew that his captors were aware of his escape.  He pressed up tight against the wall, imagining himself becoming part of it as he waited for some opportunity to either attack or escape. 

He wasn’t kept waiting for very long.  He saw a man running toward the fence, from the field on the other side of it.  He recognized him immediately and through the fog of his confusion, he murmured his name.

"Ammiteo."

The sight of the big, powerful sire plowing toward the fence with a gun in each hand lent Idrisar incentive and courage.  He took a measuring look around to be sure there was nobody within immediate range, and then he ran for the fence, his bare feet hitting the broken concrete and kicking up dust.  He heard someone yell a warning behind him and he heard gunfire go off—but it didn’t come from within the compound.  He vaguely realized that Ammiteo had allies with him and they were covering him from behind as he ran for the fence.  Idrisar employed an extra burst of speed, keeping his eyes on the determined, chiseled features of his director as he strove to meet him.

He saw his name form on Ammiteo’s lips as they both reached the fence at the same time, and he heard the hiss of ion fire passing by them, as well as bullets.  He jumped on the fence and started to climb up, but someone came up behind him and grabbed his ankle.  He didn’t even pause to see who it was.  He ignored the compulsion not to fight and he kicked the aggressor violently in the face, until he lost his hold on him.  Idrisar scrambled to the top of the fence and gracelessly tumbled over it, out of strength.  Ammiteo caught him in his strong arms and for a moment, the two of them just stared at each other.

"Are you okay?"  Ammiteo caressed Idrisar’s dirt-smudged face, his hard features softening with concern and something else.

Idrisar nodded wordlessly and they both looked behind them as a grenade that someone in the field lobbed over the fence blew up, scattering the men that were trying to catch up to the escaping prisoner.  A wall of fire manifested behind the two agents, cutting them off from the fence and the recovering enemies.  A familiar woman with porcelain skin, dark hair and blue-gray eyes came running up to them, shouting for them to move their rears.  A gorgeous, silver-haired lifebearer stood near a tree, waving his arms and hollering incantations.  Beside him, a sire with violet-streaked, silver-spiked hair was firing an ion weapon towards the compound to cover everyone.

That was all Idrisar had time to observe before he and Ammiteo ran for cover.

* * *

 

"We’re clear," Ammiteo shouted to Vurkanan, "We should head to my car now, while they’re scattered!  The agency should have a raid team coming in soon to clean this place out."

"You go," urged the sorcerer.  "I’ll make sure they don’t follow you!"

Ammiteo looked at Aurora, concerned.  She in turn looked to her companion and she stopped to stand by his side.  “I’m staying with him, to watch his back.  You should get a move on.”

 ”I don’t think that’s such a hot idea,” argued Vandrin with a wary look toward the compound.  Vurkanan had added an insect swarm to his detrimental efforts and the few men that got around the wall of fire were swatting frantically at the wasps. 

"We can handle ourselves," assured the sorcerer, "and I only mean to stay long enough to see you away.  Now go, while you can!  I’m not going to linger once the spirit singers get involved in this fracas!"

There was no point in arguing with him, and as far as Ammiteo was concerned, his top priority was Idrisar’s safety.  He gave his cousin a nod and started away with his agent, supporting Idrisar’s stumbling steps.  He didn’t like how quiet the lifebearer was…almost subdued.  He sensed something wrong, but he couldn’t understand what it was.  His mind went to dark places and he compressed his lips with quiet fury at the thought of the things Tsyther might have done to him.

* * *

 

While the agents fled the scene, Vurkanan put his all into making sure the enemy was too distracted to consider following them.  Flaming, pyroclastic rocks came shooting down out of a clear blue sky, striking the buildings with explosive impact.  The earth churned beneath the feet of men in the compound, hindering their balance as they dodged the destruction of the conjured meteor shower.  Two of them ran into a wall of wind that tossed them into the air like ragdolls, while a third got a bullet in the head courtesy of Aurora, when he tried to take aim at the source of the magical attacks.

Vurk hit them with every element in the book, and he got them good.  He specialized in evocation and conjuration, and he doubted even a spirit singer could call up this much elemental fury at once—save one.  He sensed a change in the air after conjuring a wave of water to crash over a group of men that made it out the gate, and he knew the lashran with spirit singing abilities were beginning to counter his elemental workings. 

"Touch of overkill, don’t you think?" Aurora shouted over the howl of wind.  The compound was trashed, now. 

"Not at all," argued Vurkanan with a shrug.  This was so much easier for him than alteration magicks. "Nonetheless, we’ve overstayed our welcome."  He nodded meaningfully in the direction of the falling fence, where his workings had dissipated and three sires now stood, staring at him through the lingering smoke, ash and mist.  Vurkanan grabbed Aurora’s hand and touched the pendant around his throat, wasting no time.

"Off we go."

The lifebearer and the woman vanished in a flash of light, just as one of the spirit singers materialized before their spot.  Ethan looked over his shoulder at his companions and shook his head grimly.  Their mentor wouldn’t be a bit pleased, when he learned of this. 

* * *

 

"Wolfe, Glaive, you’re free to go," announced the guard when he came to let them out of their cells, "on the condition that Agent Glaive joins the strike force that’s moving out right now.  They could use your spirit singing abilities, since they’re moving in on Sandman’s alleged location."

The two agents stared at one another and in the other cell, Zevian tensed.  Before either of the operatives could answer, the guild lord spoke up.  “Did they find him?  They found Blackbird?”

The guard glanced at him and the visiting lifebearer who held the sire’s hand through the bars.  He nodded.  “Director Ammiteo retrieved him with the help of people he refuses to name.  He’s returning to Headquarters with Blackbird now, and they’ll be detained for questioning once they arrive.”

"You’re going to lock up _more_ of your own people?” demanded Zevian, “one of which has been a hostage for over a day?”

"They have to," Glaive explained before the guard could answer.  "For the safety of this organization.  This wasn’t a typical hostage situation and Blackbird was in the company of a man who has the ability to twist people’s thoughts and loyalties."

Azurel looked up at the lishere as he stepped out of the cell.  “You really believe Agent Blackbird would turn on you?”

"Not in a million years," answered Haden sincerely, before his partner could answer, "but we aren’t talking conscious betrayal, here.  If Sandman messed with his head, Agent Blackbird might have a trigger he doesn’t even know about."

Glaive nodded.  “This isn’t a question of Blackbird’s loyalty.  It’s a question of what was done to his mind while he was Sandman’s prisoner.”

The explanation only made Zevian’s frown deepen.  “How are they going to determine that, exactly?”

"Someone will have to probe him," sighed Glaive.  "And by ‘ _someone_ ’, I obviously mean myself…unless they happen to send for someone from the Spirit Keepers guild in Zarn to do it.”

"I’m sure he would rather someone he knows and trusts do it," predicted Zevian.  "You tell them to let you do it, Agent Glaive."

"I will," promised the lishere.  "But right now, we have a compound to raid."  The gleam in his eyes suggested he was eager to shed blood—particularly Tsyther’s.

* * *

 

_A couple of hours later, in the Alliance Headquarters infirmary unit:_

Idrisar awoke from an exhausted sleep, only to find himself restrained in the hospital bed.  He frowned at the padded restraints and looked around for someone to give him an explanation.  Beside him was Ammiteo, resting in a reclining chair.  He must have only been lightly dozing, because as soon as Idrisar turned his head he opened his eyes and looked down at him.  The sire gave him a forced, quiet little smile and sat up straighter in his chair.  He leaned over to stroke Idrisar’s dark hair, his purple eyes full of concern.

"How do you feel?"

"Tired," answered the lifebearer earnestly, "and…confused.  How did we get here?  I can’t remember."

Ammiteo cast a wary look around before answering in a low voice.  “I came for you with some friends.  The agency has been taken over by the head branch in Cothmere, and they wouldn’t allow an official rescue effort until they finished their investigation.  I couldn’t wait.”

"So then, you rescued me?"  Idrisar smiled softly.  "I’m not…usually the sort to fantasize about…a big strong sire protecting me, but in this case, I think I’ll…make an exception."

Ammiteo smiled back and gently laid a hand over one of Idrisar’s restrained ones.  “Well, technically, you rescued yourself first.  You were already outside when we arrived on the scene.  Somehow, you broke free and procured a pair of pants for yourself.  We helped you get over the compound fence and to safety.”

Idrisar frowned.  He remembered a hasty struggle with a pair of oversized pants, and he remembered the sight of Ammiteo charging toward him with guns in hand, but it was all a blur.  His face heated as he realized why he had someone else’s pants at the scene.

"I was…naked…wasn’t I?"

Ammiteo cleared his throat and nodded, averting his gaze politely.  “Not by choice, I’m sure.”

Idrisar could only imagine what that must have been like, and he squirmed helplessly, listening to his body.  It didn’t _feel_ like he’d been sexually violated, and he didn’t remember anything like that happening.  Hopefully, they didn’t get the chance.

"I…um…apologize for that," muttered the agent awkwardly. 

Ammiteo shook his head and the concern returned to his eyes.  “You have _nothing_ to apologize for.  I don’t know what happened in there, but it seems to me that you had an opportunity for escape and you took it.  Modesty takes a back seat to safety, Idrisar.  I’m actually thankful that you did, because you made our job of rescuing you much, much easier.”

Idrisar lowered his gaze bashfully.  “Well, at least _some_ good came of it.”

Ammiteo nodded in agreement.  “Yes.  By the way; at the risk of being inappropriate, may I just say… _wow_.”

Idrisar looked up at him again, startled.  “So, you _did_ look.”  He smirked in spite of himself, finding the slight teasing comforting.

Ammiteo shrugged, blushing a little himself.  “I only did so with the purest of intentions.”

Idrisar chuckled softly.  It was easier to talk, when he wasn’t trying to speak about Tsyther.  “I see.  You’re blushing, sir.”

"Please, call me by my given name," corrected Ammiteo.  "Right now, I’m not your director.  In fact, I may not be this department’s director at all, anymore.  I violated protocol and went against direct orders to find you, and because you’ve been in the hands of the enemy, they’re holding you under observation as well."

Idrisar sobered.  “That explains the restraints.  You risked your career to get me.” He sighed.  “Ammiteo, I’m sorry.”

"I won’t listen to any more apologies from you," insisted the sire firmly, squeezing Idrisar’s hand.  "I made a choice between doing the right thing and doing what I was told.  They should have put their investigation on hold and prioritized your rescue, once we had that lead.  I have no regrets."

Idrisar sighed and looked down at the restraints again.  “They…think he did something to me, don’t they?”

Ammiteo gave the restraints a frowning look.  “It’s _my_ turn to apologize.  I tried to tell them the restraints aren’t necessary, but—”

"They’re right."

Ammiteo went still and stared at him.  “Idrisar, what did he _do_ to you?”

"I’m…not sure," admitted the lifebearer, "but something…in my head…is locked up.  I can’t access parts of my thoughts.  I didn’t even recognize the people you had with you when you came for me, at first.  Ammiteo…my children.  My sons and their families…are they safe?"

"Absolutely," promised the sire.  "That was one of the first things we did, when Sandman took you.  Both families are in protective custody, watched over by people I trust.  I’ve been having them checked in on every few hours, to ensure there haven’t been any further abduction attempts."

"Further?" persisted Idrisar, his sculpted features alarmed.

"It’s all right," soothed Ammiteo.  "Sefon’s family found an intruder in their home when they went to pack their things.  He tried to abduct them, but they fought back and drove him away.  The Glass Haven authorities are still looking for the culprit, but the most important thing is that the family is safe and unharmed."

Idrisar relaxed again, so relieved he actually saw spots before his eyes.  He took a few steadying breaths before speaking again.  “I would like to talk to them.  Just hearing their voices will help me rest easier, Ammiteo.”

"I’ll see what I can arrange," agreed the sire.  "Kent can probably help us with that.  Just try to relax, for now.  Can I get you anything?  Some water, maybe?"

Idrisar nodded, licking dry lips.  “Water would be nice.  Thank you, Ammiteo.”

The sire nodded and got up to fetch the requested drink.  As Ammiteo started to leave, Idrisar thought of his sons and their families.  He realized something with acute horror, then.

"Ammiteo?"

The sire stopped and turned to look at him.  “Have you thought of something else I can get for you?  I could stop by the cafeteria if you’re hungry.”

Idrisar shook his head, and his vision blurred with tears.  “No, that isn’t it.  It’s just…I can’t remember what my sons look like.  Ammiteo, I can’t see their faces in my mind!  Not my sons, not my grandsons…I can’t recall their faces!”

* * *

 

-To be continued  


	24. Chapter 24

* * *

The two Ulvari guards looked at one another uncertainly as their director approached, his features grim and determined.  While Ammiteo was officially expelled from duty until the organization finished investigating and came to a decision over his insubordination, they remained loyal to him in their hearts. 

"Sir, can we help you?" Lunvas asked as Ammiteo came to a stop before the office door.

"I need to get into Agent Blackbird’s office," explained the big man.  "To retrieve something of importance for him."

"I’m sorry, sir, but we’re under strict orders to keep his office off-limits, until they’ve had the chance to search through it."  Lunvas swallowed nervously at the angry glint in Ammiteo’s eyes.

"Right now, your case leader is lying restrained in the infirmary because some madman kidnapped him and screwed with his mind," Ammiteo said in a low voice, "and the _one_ thing he’s requested is the photos of his family that are sitting on his desk.  You can either move out of the way and allow me to retrieve them, or we can make this into an ugly confrontation.  I’ll leave the decision to you.”  He crossed powerful arms over his broad chest and waited.

Lunvas and the other sire looked at one another briefly, before stepping aside to allow access to the office door.  Ammiteo gave them each a curt, dignified nod of thanks before going in.  They watched as he approached the desk and collected the framed pictures on top of it.  Having gotten what he came for, the director walked back out of the office with the objects in his hands and he thanked the two agents for being reasonable.

"Sir," Lunvas called when Ammiteo started down the hall, "Is Agent Blackbird going to be okay?"

Ammiteo paused and glanced over his shoulder at him.  “I don’t know.”

* * *

 

"Here," offered Ammiteo a few minutes later, after returning to the infirmary room where Idrisar was being held.  He showed Idrisar the first photograph and pointed out the people in it.  "This is your oldest son, Bowen.  That’s his mate Nithander standing beside him and the little one in the front is their son, Seth.  Do they look familiar to you?"

The pale blue eyes scanned the picture and Ammiteo was hopeful when he saw the relief bleed into Idrisar’s comely features.  “Yes.  Now that I see them, I recognize them.  May I see the others?”

Ammiteo quickly showed him the second family photo, with Sefon, Lasaverus and their two boys.  When the lifebearer swallowed and nodded, he went on to show him the individual pictures of the children.  There was a photo of Seth in a baseball cap with a bat, one of Donovan taking aim with his training bow at a target, and lastly, one of little Clinton opening his first Yule present with the help of his sire.

"It’s not gone," sighed Idrisar at last, shutting his eyes.  "He blocked my access to their faces in my mind, but he didn’t wipe them out.  Thank forests."

Ammiteo set the pictures aside and impulsively stroked the older man’s dark hair, at a loss for words.  He couldn’t even imagine what it must be like for Idrisar to be unable to recall the faces of his dear sons and grandchildren.  His family seemed to be his one vulnerability, and for Tsyther to try and exploit that and take his memories of them away was unforgivable. 

"He…was trying to remake me, I think," Idrisar murmured, his eyes glassy with fatigue.  He frowned up at Ammiteo.  "He couldn’t do that without tearing me down, first.  He’s still in my head, Ammiteo."  The lifebearer tossed his head and groaned, struggling against his restraints.  "I want him out!"

Ammiteo felt his throat tighten and he tried to soothe the troubled agent.  Seeing him like this was unbearable.  “We’ll get him out, Idrisar.  They’ve already promised to have a spirit singer work with you on that, as soon as one is available.”

"Don’t want…strangers in my head," panted the lifebearer—unknowingly echoing Zevian’s earlier prediction to Glaive.  "I’ve had enough…of that."

"Okay," agreed Ammiteo, stroking Idrisar’s hair again.  "I promise, I won’t let them bring anyone except Agent Glaive to you, until you say otherwise.  They’ll have to get through me."

Idrisar calmed somewhat at the promise.  “Thank you, Ammiteo.  Could you…set the photos of my family up on the bedside table, so that I can look at them?  I keep…losing their faces, when I don’t see them.”

The director swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded, armoring himself against the pity and anger he felt before answering.  “Of course, Idrisar.”

* * *

 

_Meanwhile, elsewhere in the building:_

The raid was bitterly disappointing.  Glaive returned from the military airport with several groups of his fellow operatives, angry and frustrated by the events.  By the time they arrived at the scene, the compound was in ruins and some buildings were burnt to the ground.  Aside from three corpses, they found no sign of Sandman or his minions.  The one thing Glaive found in the mess to testify Idrisar’s captivity there was the Mokalor usually worn on the lifebearer’s left hand.  He found it in the wreck of one of the storage units, next to a broken pair of glasses.  After thoroughly investigating the area, the Alliance operatives found evidence that Sandman _had_ been there at one time, and they found evidence that someone had been restrained to a bed in one of the smaller storage rooms. 

Glaive kept his discovery of Blackbird’s precious weapon to himself, though he knew he could get charged for withholding evidence if they found out about it.  He relinquished the glasses instead, guessing that of the two items, Idrisar would prefer the former returned to him.  They returned to Headquarters after investigating, and they left a team behind to keep searching the area for further evidence.  Haden must have caught word that they were returning, because he met Glaive in the hall as the lishere stepped out of the elevator and freed his hair from the ponytail to combat a headache.  Glaive offered his partner a wan, un-enthusiastic smile as he approached, and he shook his head at the question in the gray eyes.

"Negative, mate.  They made their presence extinct before we got there.  Wherever Tsyther and his grubs went, you can bet they took their toys with them."

Haden sighed and stuffed his hands into his pockets, leaning against the wall.  People passed by them in the hallway; other agents that had been in on the raid and were obviously as frustrated as Glaive was.  “Man, that sucks.  I was really hoping maybe _this_ time, we’d get him and that would be the end of it.”

Glaive shrugged.  “I should have known better, really.  The brief report Ammiteo gave suggested that Tsyther left before even _he_ got there, but it would have been useful if we could have caught at least _one_ of his people.  I suppose if there’s a bright side to this, we’re getting closer each time.  He’s slipping, love.”

Some of Haden’s gloom seemed to disperse a bit, with that observation.  “You’re right.  The noose is tightening and he’s barely ahead of us, now.  I just hope he didn’t get too much from Agent Blackbird.”

"Likewise," agreed Glaive, his coral eyes troubled.  "Have you been to see him, yet?"

Haden shook his head.  “Not really, man.  He was asleep for a while and Ammiteo was with him, so I just let them be.  I figured they could use a little time alone, and they’ve got Blackbird all trussed up like a turkey.  I guess they’re afraid of what he could do to himself or others, if he’s been triggered.”

"Ordinarily I would protest that sort of treatment of a man who’s been nothing but loyal to this organization," Glaive sighed, "but even _I_ can agree it may be for the best, until I can see what sort of damage that bastard did in his head.”

"Do you think you’re up for it right now?" Haden asked, concern for him showing on his handsome face.  "I don’t want to leave Blackbird in a state like that either, but you’re just one man."

Glaive allowed himself a brief display of affection and he squeezed his lover’s shoulder, smirking at him.  “I appreciate the concern, but I won’t be able to rest until I try to do something for him.  I’m rather fond of the man, even if he can be a stick in the mud.”

Haden smiled and nodded.  “Yeah, me too.  Let’s go see how he’s doing.”

* * *

 

Ammiteo looked up at the two agents when they arrived in the room where Idrisar was being held.  He almost looked relieved to see them, and when Idrisar turned his head to look at them, both men were startled.  There were dark circles under the lifebearer’s eyes and his face was drawn with tension and beaded with sweat.  Idrisar had never looked so haggard before; not even after his first encounter with Sandman that left him with a limp for months.  Seeing the strong-willed, determined Ulvari in such a state was upsetting, to say the least.

"That motherfucker," blurted Haden before he could stop himself.

Everyone stared at him, unused to hearing such vulgarity from the normally chipper knight.  He got a little flustered by the raised brows and he shrugged.  “I’m just saying, is all.”

"He didn’t…break me," Idrisar assured him, managing a slight smirk for Haden’s benefit.  He breathed a tired sigh.  "Not yet." 

"And he won’t," insisted Glaive.

He looked around for a chair and Ammiteo quickly vacated his and offered it to the lishere.  Giving the bigger man a nod of thanks, Glaive took the seat and measured Idrisar’s prone form with his eyes.

"I should warn you, this _will_ get intrusive,” Glaive explained, gentling his tone as he hovered his hands over the restrained agent’s temples.  “If you want a safe word, you should tell me now, before we begin.  Otherwise, I intend to keep going until we’ve flushed him from your mind or I’ve exhausted myself trying.  Do you understand, Agent Blackbird?”

"It’s…more warning than _he_ gave me,” answered Idrisar dryly.  He nodded.  “I understand.  I don’t need a safe word, and I won’t ask you to stop no matter how much it…hurts.”

Glaive wasn’t sure about that, but then, Idrisar had already proven to be more tenacious than most.  It was obvious by the harsh desperation in his gaze that he cared more about expelling Sandman’s influence from his mind than avoiding more suffering.  The lishere sighed.  Not many people on Wyndrah could provoke sympathy in him, because not many of them treated him like a person.  Agent Blackbird was counted amongst those few who did, and he hated to cause him pain.

"I’ll be as gentle as I can," promised Glaive, and then he shut his eyes and began.

* * *

 

_Meanwhile, somewhere else on Wyndrah:_

"Vurkanan, where in the bloody hell have you taken us?"  Aurora looked around at their surroundings with wide eyes and she blinked when a hot desert breeze blew sand around them.

"Oops."

She looked at her companion, who had his silvery eyes narrowed against the light of the _rising_ sun.  “What do you mean, ‘ _oops_ ’?  Do you know where we are, or not?” 

"I’d say by the time of day, the hot climate and the sand that we’re somewhere in Ocathia," answered Vurkanan.  He turned in place and looked around.  "Ah, hah!  There’s the outpost.  Worry not, my love.  I know where we are."

"Why are we in Ocathia?" she demanded, spreading her hands out with agitation.  "We need to be in Avras!"

"Yes, well…it seems I put on the wrong pendant, in my haste to meet up with you and find our missing friend.  You know how I like to enchant them with instant teleportation spells in case of emergency?  I meant to grab the one that would take us to the apartment.  As these modern folks would say; it was ‘my bad’."

She looked around again, shielding her eyes with one hand.  “Why would you enchant a pendant to take you _here_ , to the armpit of the world?  There’s nothing except that little trade outpost for miles!”

"Exactly."  Vurkanan shrugged and looped his arm into hers, urging her to walk with him toward the small collection of adobe buildings in the distance.  "It’s far away from the noise of civilization, and the tavern makes some of the most fantastic orange twisters you’ll ever taste.  Let’s have a drink, grab a bite to eat, and rest up a bit.  I need to replenish my energy, and then I’ll have a spell ready to whisk us back to Valkyrie Falls in no time."

Aurora sighed.  “You aren’t worried about our friends back there?”

Vurkanan sobered a bit.  “Of course, I’m worried.  However, they _are_ adults and we know they got away safely.  We’ll have to trust them to handle their business without us, for a little while.  It isn’t as though we can march right into Alliance headquarters now, anyway…unless we want to subject ourselves to questioning and detainment.  We can do more for these people if we’re free to act on our own, don’t you agree?”

She nodded after a moment’s thought.  “Aye, good points.  Let’s get ourselves rested up a little, and then we can find out what’s going on with them.”  Upon gathering her bearings, she realized something else.  “You know Vurk, we’re not far from Rusk’athac.  Maybe we could stop in and see if—”

"No," he interrupted before she could finish.  "I’d rather not drag them into this."

Aurora shrugged.  “Fair enough, but it might make things go a bit faster.”

"It might," he answered, "or it might result in a long speech about how I always manage to burden others with my personal affairs.  No, I think we can handle this on our own.  Surely this Tsyther isn’t invincible."

Aurora didn’t press the matter further, understanding her companion’s reluctance.  “How about that drink, then?”

* * *

 

Glaive pushed until he was exhausted himself and Idrisar was a shaking, whimpering mess.  He shook his head and lowered it to the lifebearer’s heaving chest, aching with failure.  “I can’t,” he gasped.  “I’m so sorry, Blackbird…the net is too tight and I’m afraid I’ll kill you if I keep going.”

"Don’t…stop," begged Idrisar.  "I’d rather…die, than live like…this."

Ammiteo abruptly looked away, his mouth drawing into a thin line.  Beside him, Haden poured a cup of water and prepared to offer it to the tormented lifebearer.  Glaive lifted his head from Idrisar’s chest and stared into his desperate, tortured eyes.  “What was the thing that got you through this, Blackbird?  What was the driving force behind your efforts to get free of him?”

Idrisar’s gaze immediately went to the pictures on the bedside table.  “My family.”

The answer didn’t surprise the lishere one bit.  He’d only asked the question to remind Idrisar of that fact, in truth.  “And how do you think your family will react, if I kill you trying to undo what Tsyther has done?  This _can_ be corrected, Idrisar, but I’m afraid I’m not the one to do it.  Much as I’d love to be the man to save you from this, I’m afraid someone else will have to finish what I’ve started.  I’ve barely got my foot in the door and for every thread I yank, I seem to find five more knots.”

"Zevian," murmured Idrisar.  "I need Zevian."

Glaive’s brows went up.  “Mr. Saber is incarcerated downstairs, but if his presence would give you some comfort, I can see what—”

"No."  Idrisar shook his head, still panting softly.  His skin sparkled with perspiration and his bangs were damp with it.  "Not…comfort.  He can…Tsyther said something about…recognizing his shields.  He had to…t-take away what Zevian did b-before he could invade my…mind.  He said he taught him to do it…said he knew how to unravel the shields b-because he know how Zevian put them…together."

Glaive began to understand.  “Then it stands to reason that if Tsyther can unravel Zevian’s weave, he could do the same in return.”

"Yes," agreed Idrisar with a sigh, seeming exhausted by the effort of trying to explain.  "Please…bring Zevian."

Ammiteo was already out the door.

* * *

 

Director Kent stared as Ammiteo strode purposely through his door.  He’d barely gotten off the phone with his secretary before the man entered.  He looked at the phone in his hand before setting it back on the cradle and standing up.

"Has something new happened with Blackbird?" asked Kent, guessing the stricken agent to be the most likely cause of that grim expression.

"Yes and no," answered Ammiteo.  "Agent Glaive can’t get through the barriers Sandman placed in Blackbird’s mind.  We need someone else to try."

Kent nodded.  “I’ll let them know, so they can have someone sent from Zarn.”

"No," countered Ammiteo with a shake of his head.  "Not yet.  We want to try something else, first…for Idrisar’s sake."

Kent frowned, well aware that he could be risking his position by cooperating with the sire further, after all the rules Ammiteo had already broken.  Trust made one take all sorts of risks, though.  “Sock it to me, then.  What’s your plan?”

"I need your clearance to take Zevian Saber out of holding."  Ammiteo began to pace back and forth, clearly agitated.  "There’s a chance that he may be able to undo what his sire did to Agent Blackbird."

Kent frowned.  “But I thought Zevian Saber only recently came into his talent.  It sounds to me like sending a rookie to do a pro’s job.”

"Sandman taught him how to weave the shields," explained Ammiteo, "and he’s been doing that for most of his life.  Idrisar told us that Tsyther mentioned it as he was working on him, and part of the reason he was able to get through the protections Mr. Saber placed on him was because he knew how he wove them.  Agent Glaive and Agent Blackbird both believe Saber could do the same to his sire’s spirit workings, if given the chance.  Otherwise, we’ll have to deal with bringing a stranger to Blackbird to victimize him all over again, and I’ve already promised him I won’t let that happen against his will."

Ammiteo approached the desk and stopped before it, staring at the shorter man sincerely.  “I have to protect him, Kent.  He’s been through enough.  He trusts Saber for whatever reason, so I want to honor his request and give the man a chance to heal him.”

Director Kent hesitated for a brief moment, before nodding.  “All right, lets get this over with.”

* * *

 

Zevian was surprised when the two Alliance directors showed up in the detainment area, demanding that he come with them.  The guards questioned them and one suited sire intervened to ask for an explanation. 

"Mr. Saber could be the key to removing the subliminal constraints placed on Agent Blackbird by Sandman," Ammiteo said with a gesture at the guild lord.  "He has insight on the way the suspect uses his gifts that nobody else can match.  I want to give him the chance to undo Sandman’s work, before your people send someone to butcher my agent’s mind further."

Zevian grimaced a little, unused to hearing Ammiteo express emotion this way and hoping he wasn’t pushing his luck.  He also had doubts that he could help Idrisar, if Agent Glaive couldn’t.  In terms of power and experience, he had nothing on the lishere—but if they thought he could do something, he wasn’t going to refuse to try.  Thankfully, Azurel had retired to the suite about twenty minutes ago, or he might be mouthing off to the visiting agents as well and risking getting his little butt tossed in the slammer, too.

"What makes you think _I_ can break through, if Glaive can’t?” Zevian called out, interrupting the suited lashran’s response before he could give it.

"Because your old man taught you how to make those spirit shields," Kent answered, "and according to Agent Glaive, you’re damned good at it.  Do you want to try and help Agent Blackbird, or not?"

Zevian gave the man a dry look.  “Like I’m going to say ‘no’.  I can’t promise I’ll succeed, but if you convince these stiffs to let me out of here, I’m happy to try.”

* * *

 

Zevian had to hand it to the two directors; they were a force to be reckoned with when they worked together to convince someone to do something.  He could imagine them negotiating in hostage situations.  They released him into Kent’s custody after some arguing back and forth and a few phone calls.  It wasn’t like he could escape the building if he tried, now.  Unfortunately, they sent a couple of agents with them to Idrisar’s room, determined to keep everything under tight control.  There was nothing to be done about it and Zevian was too anxious to see how Idrisar was doing to bitch about it.

When he stepped into the infirmary room and saw the lifebearer’s condition, it took Zevian a moment to find his wits.  Seeing him strapped down like that, with his dark hair clinging to his sweaty face and his crystal-blue eyes so lost and miserable, made every protective urge Zevian had ever harbored for Blackbird rise to the surface.

"What the fuck is he doing strapped down like that?"  He turned on Ammiteo, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"Zevian," called Idrisar weakly from the bed, "Don’t.  It’s…necessary…for safety.  Ammiteo protested, but they…had to.  It’s okay."

Zevian cast a glance at Glaive, who nodded somberly and stepped aside for him to take his place at the bedside.  Biting his lower lip to hold back cursing, Zevian approached Idrisar’s bedside and sat down in the recliner.  He was very aware of his audience as he took the damp sponge from the bowl of water sitting on the edge of the bedside table and wrung it out.  He dabbed Idrisar’s pale, sweaty face with it, frowning at him. 

"You sure you want me doing this, Blackbird?  Making shields is one thing, but I’m not used to tearing them down."

Idrisar stared up at him with a look he was all too familiar with—the look of a man who had nothing left to lose.  “Get him out of my head, Zevian.  Please.”

It was heart-wrenching, particularly after being told that Tsyther blocked Idrisar’s access to the memory of his own children’s faces.  If he’d managed to do _that_ , when Idrisar’s family was clearly so important to him, then it had to be assumed that he’d done other things, too.  The psychological damage Idrisar must have incurred at his sire’s hands made Zevian want to weep.

"I’ll kick him out, Idrisar," promised Zevian when he trusted himself to speak again.   

For once, he didn’t use a term of endearment or a flirty nickname.  He stared into the agent’s eyes, silently vowing to do everything he could to make this right for him.  Idrisar stared back and offered a tenuous, trembling half-smile of encouragement.  That trusting little smile nearly undid Zevian and he blinked hastily, looking away.  He caught sight of the two visiting, suited agents out the corner of his eye and he scowled up at them.

"You two…fuck off.  I need to concentrate and I can’t do it with you leering over my shoulder."

The two agents frowned at him, and the blond sire on the left answered.  “I’m afraid that isn’t possible, Mr. Saber.  We have orders to keep a close eye on you.”

"Where the hell do you think I’m going to go?" demanded Zevian, holding his arms out and looking around.  His Zarnian accent began to surface in his agitation.  "We’re eight stories up, there’s no outside fire-escape and there’s only one door in or out of this room.  Would you be standing here like this if I was trying to do brain surgery?"

The two sires looked uncomfortable.

"Didn’t think so," Zevian said in satisfaction.  He looked at the two directors and raised his brows.  "Are you going to get them out of here so I can do this, or what?  We’re talking about your agent’s sanity, here."

"You heard him," Kent said to the two agents.  "Fuck off.  You won’t be violating orders by standing outside and giving him a little privacy to do his thing."

"We can’t afford to have him distracted," Glaive added.  "Unless you want a lawsuit on your hands for endangering an agent’s safety needlessly, fucking off would be a wise choice."

"Yeah," agreed Haden with a nod.  "What they said…only…nicer.  Take it outside, guys."

The guest agents procrastinated for a couple more seconds, before taking their advice and heading out the door.  “We’re contacting our supervisor about this,” warned one of them, “just to cover our asses, of course.”

"Of course," agreed Ammiteo.  He looked down at Zevian.  "Can you begin, now?"

"Actually, I need you guys to fuck off too," answered the guild lord with a shrug.  "Sorry.  I do this kind of thing best without an audience.  Call it stage fright."

They all stared at Zevian, until Idrisar spoke in a tired, strained voice.  “Please, just do as he asks.”  His gaze went to Ammiteo and he swallowed.  “It will be fine.  Trust me, if not him.”

The others dutifully left with Glaive’s ushering, but Ammiteo lingered.  Giving Zevian one wary glance, the director took a moment to approach Idrisar’s bedside and lay one big hand on the suffering agent’s shoulder.  “I’ll be just outside.”

Idrisar blinked slowly and smiled up at him.  “I know.  Thank you.”

Zevian waited until the bigger sire left the room and then he sighed and shook his head.  “What will it take for that man to finally give a little trust?”

"I think if you p-pull this off," Idrisar answered haltingly, "you may finally earn it.  I trust you, Zevian."

Zevian looked down at his “patient”, more nervous than he cared to admit.  “Then I’d better do right by you.”

* * *

 

The intrusion was easier, this time.  While Idrisar had utmost respect and trust in Agent Glaive, there was no denying the special connection he shared with Zevian.  Whether he intended to or not, the guild lord eased into Idrisar’s mind like a lover easing into his companion for the first time.  The glide of Zevian’s warm presence was sensual, caring and persistent as it filled Idrisar’s spirit and thoughts.  He gasped a little and he thought he heard Zevian gasp as well.  There was no time for embarrassment or shame, though.  Zevian coaxed Idrisar’s spirit to relax for him and the moment he unraveled the first strand of the psychological bonds, both of them were treated to a harsh backlash. 

Zevian groaned and Idrisar thrashed.  Somehow, the guild lord protected Idrisar from the worst of it, and a little piece of what was missing came back to him.  Idrisar heard the sire’s swiftly indrawn breath and he felt his hand tremble over his.  Zevian spoke in a soft, comforting tone.

"One down, baby.  We’re doing good.  You just keep thinking about what matters to you the most, all right?  We’ll get through this."

Idrisar nodded and again, the sensual feeling returned as Zevian gently prodded and probed his aura, seeking out the next knot to unravel.  He found it and tugged, but he stopped after a moment and muttered something that actually made Idrisar laugh weakly.

"I _swear_ I’m not trying to make this sexy.  Don’t kick my ass when this is finished, okay?”

"I’ll…try to resist temptation," promised the lifebearer softly.  "Just free me."

* * *

 

Ammiteo waited anxiously with the others, barely concealing his anxiety behind his usual mask of stoicism.  He saw his cousin come around the corner and approach, and their eyes met in a silent message.  So far, nobody knew Vandrin was involved in Ammiteo’s insubordination.  He’d testified that the director dropped him off at the end of the block and drove away, never informing him of his plans in full.  Vandrin waited a full hour to return to HQ after Ammiteo and Idrisar, to lessen the chances of anyone making the connection.  He told them that he went home for a while to have a shower and eat before coming back, even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to leave the building at all.

"How’s he doing?" Vandrin said as he joined them by the door.  "And why are you all standing out here?"

"Saber is working on him," Glaive answered.  "He doesn’t need any distractions."

Vandrin looked surprised.  “You’d let that mobster screw with Blackbird’s head?  Especially knowing he’s related to Sandman?”

"Zevian isn’t his sire," defended Haden quickly, "and he’s trying to help.  Try and see past labels and social status for a change, will you?"

"Blackbird requested Zevian’s help himself," Ammiteo said.  "Agent Glaive did his best, but Tsyther’s meddling is too severe.  Saber’s familiarity with his sire’s spirit singing can work to his advantage."

Vandrin looked between the directors and Glaive.  For once, he practiced enough restraint to avoid saying something snide to the lishere—or maybe he was just too worried about Idrisar.  “I hope you’re right.”

"So do I," sighed Ammiteo.  Remembering the request he made earlier to his cousin, he spoke in code.  "Did you send that paperwork I asked you to send?"

Vandrin nodded.  “Yeah.  All the way to Ocathia.”

 Ammiteo’s confusion leaked into his voice and expression.  “Ocathia?”

"Apparently, that’s where the new office is," answered Vandrin with a shrug and a look that said he was just as clueless.  "Don’t ask me how it works."

Seeing the curious, suspicious looks they were starting to get from the guest agents, Ammiteo improvised.  “Insurance premiums,” he explained.  “We go through the same company.  It seems they’ve moved their main office.”

"Ah," said one of the agents with a nod of understanding.  "I feel your pain.  My mate and I just had to switch to a new plan last year, and you wouldn’t believe the runaround they gave us."

"Yeah, those insurance companies can be a real bitch," said Vandrin dryly, "especially when they change continents on you without any warning."

Ammiteo shook his head and wondered just what in the hell Vurkanan and Aurora were doing in Ocathia.  He couldn’t ask his cousin for details of the conversation, though.  At least he knew they’d survived the firefight.

* * *

 

It went on until the dark hours of the morning.  Zevian took several short breaks, both for his sake and for Idrisar’s.  He helped the agent drink and fed him some fruit salad Haden brought, coaxing him to eat and keep his strength up.  The one good thing about all of this was that Idrisar’s will was so strong, Tsyther didn’t have enough time to do nearly as much damage as they’d feared.  Zevian could guess by the nature of the barriers that his sire had intended to try and wipe certain vital memories from Idrisar’s mind completely, possibly in the hopes of converting him.  The thought made him want to vomit.

Worse than that, by the time Zevian finally destroyed the last of Sandman’s handiwork, he knew exactly what his sire had done to Idrisar during his captivity.  Through the agent’s mind’s eye, he saw the events unfold, saw the way Tsyther had touched him, manipulated him, and promised to make him his slave.  _That_ part nearly ruined his composure for good, and it was only through his desire to help Idrisar that he was able to keep going until the last knot was undone. 

When he was finished, Zevian stared down at Idrisar with glowing aqua eyes, and he couldn’t stop them from tearing up with his anger and guilt.  If he didn’t think his sire was a force of pure evil before, he did now.  “Blackbird…what he did to you…I…”

Idrisar opened his eyes and looked up at him.  “You aren’t responsible,” he said in a voice long gone hoarse from moaning and yelling.  Despite the flimsy, tired quality of his voice, the stammer was gone and his speech flowed freely, again.  He sounded almost like himself, once more.  “Just don’t, Zevian.  You’re the one good thing he’s ever created in life.  Don’t take the blame for the bad things.”

"I know," said the guild lord half-heartedly, "but the things he did—"

"You can’t tell anyone," warned Idrisar, tensing.  His eyes lit up with emotion.  "I can’t have it, Zevian.  As far as anyone else is concerned, he tried to brainwash me.  That’s all they need to know."

Zevian grimaced.  Tsyther had practically raped him.  Surely, he should talk to someone about that.  “It’s not my place to say a damned word,” he agreed, “but I think maybe you should consider talking to someone about it, eventually.”

"Maybe when this is finished, I will," replied Idrisar, "but for now, I just want to get the sick bastard.  I can’t let myself go, yet.  I can’t have them finding out, because if they do, they might treat me differently.  I couldn’t bear that."

Zevian rubbed his tired eyes and frowned at him.  “They’re going to treat you differently no matter what.  You were kidnapped and held for over twenty-four hours by the man you’ve been trying to bring in for months.  People are going to wonder what he did to you, and they’re going to give you their sympathy whether you want it or not.  That’s what people do, when someone they care about has been through a shitstorm.”

"Yes, but I’d rather not add sexual molestation to the list of reasons they worry about me," insisted Idrisar.  "I’ll talk about it when I’m ready to.  Just…don’t argue with me…okay?"  He started to pant raggedly, his pupils dilating to pinpoints. 

"Idrisar?"  Zevian stared down at him in confusion as the lifebearer started to hyperventilate.  "Whoa…slow down.  You’re breathing too much, kid.  Easy…just take it easy."

Without even realizing he was doing it, Zevian laid a calming blanket of spiritual energy over the agent.  The panic attack began to fade and Idrisar looked up at him with a combination of gratitude and embarrassment. 

"Promise you won’t say anything," gasped the agent, once he could speak again.  "Promise, Zevian."

"All right, all right!  I promise.  Just calm down."

"Good," sighed Idrisar, letting his head fall back on the pillow.  "Thank you."

"You’ve got to promise me something too, though," Zevian said, before Idrisar could completely relax.

The agent opened his eyes again to look at him.  “What do you want me to promise?”

"Get some fucking rest," answered the guild lord candidly.  "Take time off, if they don’t force you to do it anyway."

Idrisar smiled tremulously.  “I doubt I have much choice.  They’ll want Agent Glaive to scan me and they’ll probably want me to undergo psychiatric evaluation.  Sandman is temporarily out of our grasp again, so there isn’t any reason I _shouldn’t_ take some time off for recovery.  I’m no fool, Zevian.  I know how to take care of myself.”

"Sometimes I wonder," sighed the guild lord.  "Your one great fault is your pride, baby."

"My pride isn’t so great," objected Idrisar with a yawn.  "I asked for your help, didn’t I?"

"Only when you were floating on the edge of insanity," Zevian pointed out.  "Just quit pushing yourself so hard, Blackbird."

"I’ll try."

Zevian frowned down at him as the lifebearer shut his eyes and immediately began to lose consciousness.  He brushed aside a lock of dark, damp hair clinging to Idrisar’s forehead and he lowered his lips to the spot and kissed it.  In that moment, he couldn’t resist speaking the truth of what was in his heart, though his feelings were split between this man and another, younger lifebearer.

"I love you."

* * *

 

-To be continued


	25. Chapter 25

* * *

The first thing Idrisar did when they removed his restraints was to request a phone and his sons’ contact information.  He called Sefon first, because they told him about the incident with the man breaking into their home and he needed to hear for himself that they were all okay.  Sefon was very relieved to hear from him—to the point where his voice trembled with the threat of tears.

"Dad…when they told me you were taken hostage, I was so afraid I might never hear your voice again," admitted Sefon with a suspicious sniff.  "I’ve been trying to hold up a brave front for the kids, but I barely held on.  I don’t know how you do it, Dad."

"What do you mean?" asked Idrisar, savoring the sound of his son’s voice even as he wished he could reach through the phone and wipe away the tears he could hear in his voice.

"Stay so calm," answered Sefon as though the answer was obvious.  "I remember when Sire fell sick, how you were always reassuring and in control.  I never fully appreciated it until now.  I think I need to have a breakdown."

"I’m sure you did just fine," soothed Idrisar.  "It’s amazing, the things you’ll find you can do for the sake of your children."

"Agreed," sighed Sefon.  He paused and murmured to someone else in the background.  "Dad, the kids want to speak with you.  I’ll put Donovan on first."  In a lower voice, Sefon said: "Please, don’t encourage him."

Idrisar understood exactly what he meant and he smiled a little, torn between pride and concern over his grandson’s brave actions.  He took a slow breath and considered what to say as Donovan was put on the line.

"Hi Granddad!  We’re all real glad you got away from that crazy jerk!"

Idrisar chuckled.  “So am I, Donnie… _believe_ me.  So, I heard about what you did when that man broke into your house and tried to hurt everyone.  That must have been terrifying for you.”

There was a shrug in the boy’s voice as he answered.  “Yeah, it was at first, but _then_ I thought of you and what _you_ would have done, if you were there.  I just wanted to protect everyone and make that asshole pay for messing with us.”

"Language, Donovan," warned Idrisar sternly.

"Yes sir."  The boy’s tone was contrite.  "Sorry.  It just makes me mad thinking about it, is all.  I _knew_ something was going on with you, but Sire and Father tried to hide it from us.”

"That’s their job as your parents," reminded Idrisar.  "They had no reassuring information to give you at the time, so don’t hold it against them for choosing to keep it to themselves.  They didn’t want you to worry, and they were trying to protect you."

The boy sighed.  “I know.  I’m just glad you’re safe again.  Dad said they never caught the guy, though.  Will he try to get you again?”

"I doubt it."  Idrisar wished he felt as confident in that as he sounded, but convincing Donnie that he was safe was more important than being completely truthful, right now.  "Now, about this business with you shooting that man—"

"—In the butt," supplied Donovan helpfully, his voice laced with pride.

"Yes, in the butt," agreed Idrisar, struggling not to laugh.  Ammiteo walked in and the lifebearer impulsively winked at him as he sat down.  Overhearing enough to realize whom he was talking to and about what, the director gave Idrisar a smile and quietly took a seat beside his hospital bed.

"That was a very brave thing you did, Donnie," continued Idrisar, trying to give the boy praise without condoning reckless behavior, "and I know most boys your age wouldn’t have considered taking up arms to protect their family.  Regardless, don’t let this incident convince you that you’re invulnerable.  Forests forbid there ever be a ‘next time’ for something like this, but if there ever is, you let the adults handle it first.  You were lucky that man was already running away, and didn’t retaliate."

"Well, what am I supposed to do if the adults _can’t_ handle it?” demanded Donovan.

Idrisar sighed.  “In that case, you do what you have to do.  You’re a smart boy, Donovan.  A true warrior never uses violence for the sake of doing violence, no matter how angry he or she may be.  You defend yourself and your brother when you have to, but don’t go _looking_ for fights, understand?”

The child considered it for a moment before answering.  “Okay, Granddad.  I promise I’ll try to remember that.  I want to be like you when I grow up.”

Idrisar smiled, warmed by the innocent proclamation.  “I just want to be sure you grow up healthy and safe.  Now, put your brother on so I can say goodnight to him, would you?  I love you, Donnie.”

* * *

 

Ammiteo offered to step back outside as Idrisar finished speaking with his sons and their families, but the lifebearer waved it away and assured him he didn’t mind him staying.  Ammiteo listened to his agent speaking in Nandarian to his oldest son’s mate, and while he wasn’t deliberately trying to snoop, he found himself trying to keep up with the one-sided conversation.  He was born and raised in Avras, and while he knew how to speak the Rhuidian dialect, his linguistic skills were rusty and the Nandarian dialect was subtly different.  It flowed more, and it had a faintly musical quality to it.  Listening to Idrisar effortlessly speaking it in his soft voice was a treat to the ears, even when he couldn’t quite understand what he was saying.

Idrisar finished up speaking with Seth, ending with a promise to have them all come and stay with him for a week, once it was safe for the families to return to their normal lives.  He explained to the boy why they had to remain under protective watch and he swore to him that nobody was going to kidnap him again.  He bid him goodnight and he sighed when he ended the call and put the phone on the bedside table.

"I just lied to my grandchildren," announced Idrisar in a tired voice, shutting his eyes.  "I told all of them that there’s no chance Sandman will come after me again."

"I wouldn’t say that’s a lie," objected Ammiteo, reaching out to take one of the smaller man’s slack hands in his.  He rubbed it to warm it and he looked into the pale blue eyes that opened to regard him.  "His last effort cost him, Idrisar.  He’s losing control fast, and he’s going to slip.  If Tsyther is as smart as we think, then he isn’t likely to try and take you hostage again."

"No, this time he’ll just kill me."  Idrisar smirked dryly.  "But seriously; any man that would do what he did to me is either out of his mind or very stupid.  I’m inclined to believe it’s the former, and madmen are difficult at best to predict."

Ammiteo nodded.  “I see your point.  Well, I do have some good news for you.  They’ll be releasing you tomorrow, and once they finish their investigation of this facility, you’ll be clear to return home with paid vacation time.  I made sure of that.”

Idrisar smiled at him and adjusted his bed to help him sit up.  “Taking care of me, eh?”  His smile dissolved into a frown of worry.  “Ammiteo, what’s going to happen with your job?  Have they told you anything, yet?”

The sire shrugged his broad shoulders and shook his head.  “I imagine they’ll make a decision about that after they’ve completed their investigation and referred back to the head branch.  To be honest with you, my job is the last thing I care about, right now.”  He accentuated his point by bringing Idrisar’s hand to his lips and planting a brief kiss on it.

Idrisar’s face took on an uncommonly vulnerable expression.  “Thank you.”

Ammiteo frowned.  “For what?”

The agent lowered his pretty eyes, hiding his gaze beneath the shadow of his sooty lashes.  “For coming for me.  I can’t tell you how much it meant to me, to find you there when I ran for that fence.  The whole incident is still fogged in my mind, but I remember _that_ part clearly.”

"Well, you might have even escaped on your own, if we hadn’t been there," Ammiteo excused sincerely, humbly.  "I barely had to do anything."

Idrisar cracked a little smile and met his eyes again.  “Not true.  I had to fight myself for every step I took, Ammiteo.  I was weakening.  Seeing you there gave me the will and courage to keep fighting.  I don’t think I would have made it out of that compound, if you hadn’t come.”

Ammiteo stared into his eyes and he couldn’t think of anything to say in response to that, so he dared to lean in for a brief, tender kiss.  He found his voice after feeling the brush of Idrisar’s soft, silken lips against his and he murmured his thoughts against them. 

"Thank _you_ for being such a fighter.”

* * *

 

Later that evening after being released and allowed to return to their suite, Glaive was trying to make his actions up to his partner.  He rubbed Haden’s shoulders and kissed his neck as the human stood staring contemplatively out the window.  Evidently, Haden was too distracted by recent events to warm up to Glaive’s efforts right away.

"So, what happens to him now?"

Knowing he was referring to Blackbird, Glaive shrugged.  “The Ulvari are thorough.  Agent Blackbird will have to undergo psychiatric evaluation, and he’ll need to submit to further spirit scanning.  The agency has to know how much info Tsyther might have gotten from him, and it doesn’t just put _this_ facility at risk.  Blackbird knows the layout of other branches, too.”

Haden winced.  “That’s bad.”

"Indeed, it is," agreed Glaive, "but remember who we’re talking about, love.  Blackbird has a mind like a steel trap, and I say that in all sincerity.  Not many people could have endured what he’s gone through, without losing their sanity or going catatonic.  I think that if Tsyther _did_ manage to get something from him, it went no further than this building.  That’s why he was trying to ‘unmake’ him, Haden.  He couldn’t obtain the information he wanted by force, so he intended to convert Idrisar to his side and get it from him willingly.”

"Talk about your high hopes," sighed Haden.  "The guy really is nuttier than a Crispy Crunch candy bar."

"Yes, but he’s also brilliant," reminded Glaive.  He kissed Haden’s neck again and ran his hands over the strong shoulders and biceps.  "Don’t forget that, mate.  He’s not a drooling idiot, but a crafty, fully functional madman."

"Yeah, I know."  Haden shut his eyes as Glaive’s persistent kisses started to distract him.  "It just helps to pretend he’s not as smart as he really is."  He opened his eyes again and looked at the Mokalor, sitting on the little dining table in the room.  "What about _that_ thing?  I thought you were going to give it back to Agent Blackbird.”

"I haven’t had the opportunity," answered Glaive.  His lips moved over the pale arch of Haden’s neck as he spoke, and he kissed between words.  "I think if I try to give it to him right now, they would only confiscate it.  I’ll wait until they’ve concluded their debriefing and evaluation of him before I return it to him."

"Poor guy," sighed Haden.  He shivered a little as the lishere blew into his ear and he turned his head to frown at him.  "Hey, cut that out.  I’m trying to have a sincere moment here, and I’m still mad at you."

Glaive fought a grin.  “I’ve apologized several times, Haden.  What more can I do?  I wasn’t expecting _you_ to be the one to take a hit.”  He stroked the side of Haden’s face where the other agent had struck him.  “Besides, it healed as you slept.  Can’t we just move on?”

"You say that every time you get me into trouble," Haden muttered petulantly, "and I fall for it, until it happens again!"

Glaive chuckled softly.  “May I remind you that _you_ jumped into it? I didn’t ask you to come to my rescue.”

Haden grumbled something under his breath.

"Let me make it up to you," cajoled the lishere in a breathy, seductive voice.  He tugged Haden’s earlobe briefly with his teeth, toying with the stud in it with his tongue.  "I’ll let you top."

"Don’t think you’re getting off the hook that easy," warned Haden, even as his eyes flashed with intrigue.  A subtle glow in the irises betrayed his rising lust. 

Glaive was prepared for such a response, so he revealed his secret weapon.  He moved around in front of Haden and he dangled a pair of handcuffs before the knight’s lupine eyes.  “What if I let you restrain me, like the naughty whore than I am?”

Haden stared at the spinning, police-issue restraining device.  “Uh…seriously?”

Glaive wasn’t normally the sort to dote on someone, but he seriously had to refrain from glomping his partner, at that moment.  Haden looked genuinely, honestly bewildered—like an excited teen about to lose his virginity.  Glaive certainly wasn’t into hardcore BDSM, thanks to his past, but a little light play now and then could be fun, with the right person.  It seemed the idea hadn’t even occurred to Haden—which could potentially be very cute or very disastrous.  Glaive didn’t know for sure where his partner stood on such matters, so he deigned to be a little more cautious. 

"Haden, are you a bondage virgin?" guessed the lishere with a half-amused, half-intrigued smirk.

"No!"  Haden blushed and looked away, sticking his hands into his pockets.  "Well, sort of.  I mean, I know plenty of other people do it and I watched some porn in my day, too."  He cleared his throat and a dark lock of wavy hair fell over his right eye.

"It’s nothing to be ashamed of," Glaive assured him, softening his smile.  "If the thought of cuffing me makes you uncomfortable, don’t be afraid to say it.  We can do whatever you want."

He could tell by the look in the human’s eye that Haden wasn’t so much “uncomfortable” with the notion of restraining him as he was bashful.  Glaive smiled again and cupped the back of his companion’s dark head, drawing his sensitive mouth to his for a kiss.  He took his time with it, pressing, caressing and sucking with his lips before parting them and allowing Haden’s tongue in.  He gave the knight full dominion over the kiss, showing him with his actions that he meant what he said.  They commonly switched positions in the bedroom, but in truth, Glaive was generally the more dominant force.  Tonight, he intended to relinquish all control to his partner, to prove his trust and reward him for putting up with his shenanigans.  

 After a moment, Glaive broke the kiss and gazed into his partner’s eyes expectantly.  Haden was doing his best to look annoyed, but he couldn’t hide the glow of passion in his gaze.

"If you think sexing me up is going to work," Haden warned, "you’re right." 

Glaive laughed as the knight pounced on him, kissing him hungrily as he steered him towards the bed.

* * *

 

He honestly didn’t know where to begin.  As he’d confessed to his partner; he’d _seen_ a porn flick or two involving cuffs or other forms of restraint, but fantasy and reality turned out to be very different.  As desirable as Glaive looked lying there naked with his wrists cuffed together, Haden had a horrible feeling he might laugh.  He felt the warning twitch in his abs as he pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside.  He couldn’t tear his eyes off the lishere’s tawny, reclining body and despite his impending hysteria, he took a moment to admire the sight of Glaive’s cock swelling against his lower abdomen. 

Acting on impulse, Haden paused in his efforts to undo his pants and he leaned over, reaching down with an eager hand.  Glaive’s mouth curved into a seductive little half-smile of approval as the knight took a moment to grip the length of his stiffening sex and give it a couple of loving strokes.  Haden watched his face as he fondled him, and when the lishere’s eyes fluttered shut, masked by the thick fringe of pale lashes, he sighed.

"You’re so pretty."

Glaive quirked a brow.  “I’d prefer a more manly adjective to describe how you see me.”

The giggle fit Haden was trying to hold back rose to the surface again, and he chortled softly before he could stop himself.  “Uh, fine.  How about this: you’re teh sex.”

Glaive joined his low laughter.  “So we’ve evolved from effeminate to text speak?”  He sighed dramatically and raised his arms over his head, shifting into a more provocative pose.  “It’s a good thing you’re an agent, and not a smut writer.”

"I could write smut," protested Haden.  He grinned at the other man, his silver-pale gaze sweeping over him lovingly as he finished undoing his pants.  Just before pulling them down, he paused and made a grand gesture at Glaive.

"Oh handsomest of handsome ones, oh god of…uh…spirit singing and…um…knives!  I would die ten thousand deaths, just to be near your bronzed body.  I would—"

"Get undressed and come here," interrupted Glaive, "before we’re up to our eyeballs in cheese."

Grinning broadly, Haden obligingly pulled his pants down and stepped out of them.  Now clad only in his underwear, he got onto the bed and stretched out beside his partner.  Propping up on one arm, he traced the smooth lines of Glaive’s tawny frame, running a palm slowly over his chest and abs.  He loved his body and he loved touching it.  He looked up from the tight muscles of the lishere’s abdomen as Glaive started to put his arms around his neck.  Catching sight of the glint of handcuffs on the Ulvari agent’s wrists, Haden snorted unexpectedly. 

Glaive stopped with his restrained wrists hovering over the back of Haden’s neck, and he raised an inquisitive brow at him.  “Having a giggle moment, love?”

"Sorry," apologized Haden, immediately blushing.  "I guess I’m just nervous."

Glaive relaxed and purposely rubbed his naked thigh against the bulge in Haden’s boxer briefs.  “Why?  We’ve done this at least a hundred times since we got together.”

"Not _this_ ,” argued Haden.  “I mean, not with you cuffed.  It’s a little funny, because I know you could get out of those things in a heartbeat, if you wanted to.”

Glaive shrugged and hooked his wrists behind Haden’s head, urging him to lower it.  When their mouths were mere inches apart, he whispered; “Who says I _want_ to, mate?  This is about fantasy, and tonight I’m all yours.  Go with it.”

Those words, spoken with such sincere passion and trust, proved to be Haden’s undoing.  He’d said something quite similar to Glaive, the first time they had sex.  He kissed the lishere deeply, forgetting about his embarrassment as he took Glaive’s advice and rolled with the fantasy.  Glaive’s tongue caressed Haden’s invitingly and his lips were relaxed and parted, relinquishing control of the kiss as promised.  Glaive had an interesting way of kissing submissively, without actually being passive.  His barbell piercing slid against Haden’s exploring tongue sensually and his lips were animated, without being aggressive.

Haden’s confidence grew, and he ran his free hand over Glaive’s body again, slowly stroking his way down.  The lishere parted his thighs and purred into Haden’s mouth with his touch drifted below the belly button.  Instead of going straight for the figurative “gold”, Haden lifted his hand and rested his fingertips over his eager companion’s stomach, before gliding them back up to his chest in a teasing, sensual caress. 

"I call foul," protested Glaive against his lips—not _quite_ whining, yet.

Haden smiled.  “I’ll get to it eventually,” he promised.  “Right now, I’m just taking advantage of the moment.  Are you going to be good or not?”

 Glaive sighed.  “I suppose I can behave…for a while.” 

His tone suggested that there was only so much “for a while” available, before he lost patience.  That was good enough for Haden.  He was eager to have sex too, and he didn’t know how much he could tease before he too lost patience.  It was worth a little frustration to get the chance to touch Glaive at his leisure.  He didn’t take the opportunity for granted.  He tweaked each dusky nipple to hardness as he lowered his mouth to Glaive’s for another kiss.  He rubbed the tightening buds gently with his fingertips, and he brushed his inner thigh against Glaive’s. 

The low, subtle groan that reverberated in the lishere’s throat told Haden he was doing everything right.  The feel of Glaive’s erection twitching against his thigh when he moved his leg up was further proof.  Haden broke the kiss and lifted his head to look down at his partner, admiring the fine-boned, bronzed features as he always tended to do.  He refrained from complimenting Glaive on his looks again, unwilling to risk saying something silly.  The lishere’s eyelids fluttered and opened, and the coral eyes were aglow with lust as they gazed up at Haden.

"Come here," demanded Glaive huskily, and he tried to pull Haden’s head down again for a kiss. 

Haden wouldn’t allow it.  He ducked his head and slipped out of the loop of Glaive’s arms, quickly grabbing both his cuffed wrists and pushing them over the lishere’s head.  “Hey,” he reminded with a teasing smile, “I thought you said you were going to behave for this.  You’re kind of pushy for a prisoner.”

Glaive chuckled and relaxed, not fighting him.  “You’ve got a way of bringing out the beast in me, sexy.  Do your worst.”

"And you’ll keep your hands over your head like this?" demanded Haden.

Glaive nodded, his lustrous, silver hair spread out beneath his head like a glorious halo.  “A promise is a promise.  I’ll somehow manage.”

Somehow, Haden doubted he would deliver.  He was going to appreciate the effort, however.

* * *

 

Between his training with the Spirit Keepers, Tsyther’s cruel, ruthless methods and his final journey through the Ulvari ranks, not many could match Glaive’s ability to control his urges when he put his mind to it.  Unbeknownst to Haden, it took more for Glaive to do this than he let on.  The lishere blocked out the awful memories of the whip striking his back and shoulders, of Tsyther’s warnings that if he cried out or begged for mercy, he would kill him.  Mentor had no place for weaklings in his ranks, and at the time, Glaive truly believed him when he said he could mold him into something perfect.  He could endure pain and suffering that would bring most men to their knees. 

It was therefore quite humbling for Glaive to find himself struggling to maintain self-control as his lover’s kisses, touches and husky murmurs threatened to undo him.  After everything he’d endured and learned over the years, all it took was a whispered endearment, a loving caress and the feel of Haden’s strong body against his to make him squirm.

"Haden," he murmured before he could stop himself, his back arching as the knight’s tongue traced his left nipple.

The faintly pleading quality of the sound gave the human pause.  Haden lifted his dark head and caressed Glaive’s tense thigh with his hand as he looked at him.  His lupine gaze was inquisitive and intense at once. 

"Are you okay?"  He said it with utter sincerity, his handsome features openly concerned.

Glaive stared at him, blinking.  Forests, had he sounded _that_ desperate when he called his name?  Or perhaps Haden was more aware of how difficult this was for him than he let on.  He had his own special way of reading people.  Glaive swallowed and inhaled slowly before answering, trying to calm himself.  He lowered his gaze and he ended up staring at his own erection.  The tip of his cock was shiny with precum and a bead of it was slowly, steadily rolling off the glans to land on his abdomen.  The sight made him lose his train of thought and he blurted the first thing that sprang to mind.

"You make me wet like nobody else, mate."

Haden—bless his fair skin—blushed predictably, even as he grinned.  He looked down at the swollen length of Glaive’s arousal and he finally treated him to another grope.  His warm, calloused hand gripped the length of it and he stroked it from root to tip.  He watched Glaive’s face as he started to slide his hand back down but paused to slick his thumb over the slippery, exposed head.

"I like making you wet." 

Haden followed that statement up with a kiss that would have knocked Glaive’s socks off—had he been wearing any.  As it was, the lishere was hard put not to come in his companion’s hand.  The slightly rough texture of the pad of Haden’s thumb gliding over the sensitive urethra opening made Glaive’s balls tighten, and his shaft bucked in the human’s grip. 

"Mmph…unh…Haden, you’ve got to stop for a minute," warned Glaive when Haden’s demanding kiss eased up.  "Unless you want me coming right now."  Somehow, he remembered to keep his cuffed hands up over his head—though he was gripping the pillow hard enough to make his knuckles go white.

Haden wisely took his advice, releasing his erection and stroking his thigh soothingly.  “We’ll take a breather,” he said.  He lowered his mouth to Glaive’s chest and kissed the heaving surface of it, licking the beads of perspiration that had formed there.  “When will I have a chance like this again, right?”

Glaive couldn’t hold back his groan, this time.  Well, he’d asked for it, hadn’t he? 

* * *

 

Haden lost track of time, in his amorous worship of Glaive’s sleek, tawny body.  When he was practically bursting with need and couldn’t stand it any longer, he asked the lishere to roll over for him.  Glaive was all too happy to comply and he already knew what Haden had in mind when the knight grasped his naked hips and urged him to lift his ass.  He braced himself on his elbows and got into position for Haden while the knight hastily squirmed out of his underwear.  Haden had been so focused on Glaive that he couldn’t be bothered removing the sparse clothing article, until now.  He grimaced a little at the stickiness he felt when he pulled the material away from his groin and tugged it down.  He’d come close to coming in the undergarment more than once during his play, and that was _without_ Glaive laying so much as a finger on him. 

Despite his sharp desire, Haden wasn’t thoughtless.  He tested his companion one last time, assuring himself that he hadn’t imagined it when he decided Glaive was ready for him.  The lishere pushed back greedily against his fingers as Haden slipped two of them inside of him, and he hissed softly when the knight stroked his prostate in passing. 

"I know I promised to let you lead the whole way through," panted Glaive, "but if you don’t give me your cock _right now_ , I’m going to pin you down and take it myself.”

Haden laughed breathlessly, even as he positioned himself on his knees and gripped his erection to guide it in.  “I probably wouldn’t fight you too hard, babe.  Here I come.” 

Glaive sucked in a sharp breath as Haden obliged with his demands and slowly fed him the length of his sex.  Haden knew his companion well enough by now to trust him to speak up, if he was penetrating too fast or too rough.  He felt Glaive’s body relax around his throbbing shaft and he groaned low in his throat once he was in to the hilt.  He traced the lishere’s arching spine with one hand, while gripping his right hip with the other.  He eased back out to the tip, and then he slid home again.  It went easier this time and he knew Glaive was adjusting to the breech quickly.

Glaive proved as much when he rocked back against the knight, taking him in again when he withdrew.  Haden was quickly caught up in it and he began to pump steadily, starting out slowly and picking up speed as his companion adjusted.  Glaive’s breathless, husky cries filled the room along with Haden’s grunts and groans of pleasure.  The bed began to bump against the wall as the sex became more vigorous, and Haden no longer worried about getting too rough with his partner. 

After several minutes, Haden felt Glaive tightening around him and he quickly gripped the base of the lishere’s erection, stalling his orgasm.  He didn’t like to keep going for very long after Glaive came when he topped, because he knew it cut into the “afterglow” enjoyment period.  Coming together—or within second of one another—was his idea of the ultimate sexual experience with his partner. 

"Haden," panted Glaive, his silver hair hanging over his left shoulder and swaying with the two men’s motions. 

"Not yet, baby," gasped Haden desperately, his hips snapping faster as his climax approached.  "You kept your promise and I’ll keep mine."

"Wh-what promise?" demanded the Ulvari.  He followed up with a trembling moan and his dick bucked eagerly in Haden’s gripping hand, practically begging to be released.  A viscous, hefty drop of precum dangled from his erection briefly, before falling off to smear the sheets. 

Haden realized he’d made no promise aloud, but he was in no condition to remind his partner of his “we come together” policy when he was taking this role. 

"Later," he groaned, his balls tightening up warningly.  "Ahh, ooh…Glaive… _now_.”

Haden stopped gripping his partner’s cock and he stroked it rapidly as he bucked hard into him and started to orgasm.  Glaive hissed through his teeth and pushed back against him, twitching helplessly in his massaging hand and spurting a healthy sample of his spunk onto the sheets.  Their groans and gasps intermingled as the agents enjoyed their reward and came until they were both trembling from the pleasure. 

When they were both spent, Haden carefully withdrew from Glaive and he lay down beside him as the lishere collapsed.  His hair fell over his eyes as he rubbed Glaive’s back and carelessly threw a leg over the back of his thighs.  When he recovered enough to move again, Haden helped his partner roll onto his back and he kissed him.  Glaive put his arms around the knight’s neck and returned the kiss, hardly seeming to mind that his wrists were still cuffed.

"That," Glaive panted when their mouths parted again, "was _completely_ worth it.  You see?  I _knew_ you could make it work, love.”

Haden grinned like an idiot and kissed him again, pleased that he’d given as much pleasure as he’d taken from the act.

* * *

    

The end of Ammiteo’s career didn’t come, as Idrisar feared it would.  After much explaining and being backed by everyone in his department _and_ the Order of the Wolf, Ammiteo was put on under brief probation, during which time the visiting officer from the Cothmere Ulvari branch would take over his duties.  Talith of the Rhuidhim Ulvari-vash put in a good word for him as well, which made it nigh impossible for them to fire him.  The investigation went on and efforts to track down Sandman resumed—this time with the Cothmere agents lending their aid to the case.  There was some confusion in the chain of command and Kent had to help Ammiteo clear some things up concerning Vandrin, but it somehow smoothed out by the end of the week.

Zevian and his men were released from holding, once the Cothmere authorities were satisfied that they weren’t flight risks.  They were allowed to resume their previous activities—though under stricter rules and observation than before.  Zevian had to resort to using code speak when he talked business with his shark back home, and he couldn’t give him an estimate of when he could return to settle things with L’daris.  Vylden warned him that the rival guild lord was working hard on rallying more support from their lesser brothers and he’d already sabotaged one business exchange.  Zevian told him to just deal with things as well as he could, until he could return.  The Oricus guild lord took comfort in the knowledge that Agent Blackbird was free of his sire’s influence, and he focused his concentration on the case and on giving Azurel as much attention as he could.

As for Vurkanan and Aurora, they had tentative contact with Ammiteo, but they did not intend to breeze back into the Avras Alliance headquarters until things settled down.  Aurora’s source of income was as questionable as Zevian Saber’s was, and Vurkanan simply didn’t deign to sit down and recap the last thousand years or so with a bunch of strangers.  The sorcerer assured Ammiteo that he and Aurora were still very much interested in helping them capture and detain Sandman.  Their collaboration would just have to be a bit more secretive, for a while. 

On Friday evening—much as his director often imagined him—Idrisar was curled up on the loveseat in his den, reading the newspaper as he sipped a drink.  Unlike Ammiteo’s quaint mental image, the fireplace was dead and cold, and the drink that Idrisar held in his hand was not a cup of tea, but a glass of his favorite cinnamon liqueur.  The agent had taken his contact lenses out and he wore a pair of brass-framed, oval glasses as he read by lamplight.  The nights were too warm now to light a fire, and though Idrisar would have enjoyed the cheerful warmth, he didn’t believe in being wasteful.  His was a real wood-burning fireplace and though his supplier reforested areas they cut down, he refused to light his fireplace just because he could.

Idrisar stared at the text on the newspaper without truly seeing it.  He couldn’t seem to focus, and he thought it was a wonder that he made it through his psychiatric evaluations without being declared unfit to return to active duty.  He’d submitted to a spirit scan too, though he insisted on Agent Glaive being the one to do it, the experience was still invasive and it left him shaken.  The look in the lishere’s pink eyes when he finished scanning him told Idrisar that like Zevian, Glaive saw what Tsyther did to him during his captivity.  He didn’t say anything about it to the inspectors, however.  He informed them that Idrisar was free of any implanted suggestions and in a stable frame of mind.  The psychiatrists evidently agreed with the latter, as well.

"I’ve become too good of an actor," whispered Idrisar to himself, frowning. 

Not that he was unhappy with the outcome of his evaluations—far from it.  He _needed_ to stay on the job and as he told Zevian; he could let himself go once this was finished.  Still, a part of him mourned the fact that he couldn’t just have a good, well-deserved breakdown and get it all out of his system.  He knew that his method of coping wasn’t exactly healthy.  People who kept things bottled up tended to explode, eventually.  One day they were normal, average people and the next, they went on a shooting spree because someone cut them off on the highway. 

"I definitely don’t want to be one of _those_ people,” sighed the lifebearer.  He set his drink down and pressed his thumb and forefinger against the corners of his eyes, rubbing lightly beneath his glasses to ease the tension headache he felt building. 

When the doorbell rang, Idrisar nearly jumped out of his seat.  He slapped the newspaper down on the loveseat and looked toward the foyer entrance warily, his eyes wide behind the clear lenses of his glasses.  His left hand instinctively flexed before he remembered that he wouldn’t have a replacement Mokalor for another week.  Remembering the small handgun he’d placed in the drawer of his coffee table, he procured it quickly and checked the chamber and safety, before getting up and walking to the archway. 

"Who is it?" Idrisar called out, keeping the gun readied in his right hand as he approached the foyer.

"It’s Ammiteo.  I tried to call before coming over, but you didn’t answer your phone."

Idrisar immediately relaxed with a sigh, and he checked the phone in question.  He’d turned it off when he got home from the market and he’d forgotten about it.  The same part of him that wanted to collapse into a sobbing ball of angst reminded him that Tsyther could trick the mind into seeing or hearing what he wanted it to.  Idrisar silenced that little voice of doubt.  Glaive had shielded him after the spirit scan, and Zevian tested it and confirmed that he couldn’t find a starting point to unravel.  That meant Tsyther couldn’t break through easily either.

Idrisar walked up to the door, flipped the hall light on and unlocked the chain, the two bolts and the doorknob.  He’d added the second bolt lock upon returning home, and Glaive and Agent Rose applied arcane and spiritual protections around the perimeter as well.  Sandman wouldn’t find it so easy to enter this house, were he to try it.

* * *

 

When Idrisar opened the door and smiled up at him, Ammiteo’s first impulse was to smile back.  “I’m sorry for coming unannounced,” he apologized again, “but when you didn’t answer your phone, I was…concerned.”

Idrisar shook his head and looked at the evening horizon, over the building rooftops.  The last hint of the setting sun was dying, giving way to nightfall.  “I don’t mind.  Please, come in.  I could use a little company.”  The lifebearer stepped aside and gestured invitingly.

Ammiteo took the invitation, passing through the doorway gratefully.  He watched his smaller companion as Idrisar shut and locked the door, and he noticed the new lock.  He said nothing about it, having been aware of the added precautions put into place since Idrisar was cleared to go home.  If he hadn’t been trained to be observant and if he didn’t know Blackbird so well, Ammiteo might have missed the subtle tension in the lifebearer’s shoulders, and the way he looked out one of the narrow, frosted glass windows on either side of the door, as if making sure nobody else was out there.  Then, there was the gun he still held in his hand—though Ammiteo could tell he’d activated the safety mechanism.

"How have things been?" Ammiteo asked cautiously, not wanting to offend Idrisar.

The lifebearer turned and looked at him with a humorless little smirk on his lips.  “I haven’t had a breakdown, just yet.”

The bigger man shrugged.  Aside from calling him every day to check in on him, he’d tried to leave him alone.  “I’ve done my best to keep my distance and give you some space, but I’m only mortal.  Now that I know you’re okay, I could leave, if you want me to.”

"No," protested Idrisar immediately.  He impulsively took one of Ammiteo’s hands in his and his gaze softened.  "Please, stay and have a nightcap.  I didn’t mean to sound ungracious.  I just…don’t want you to look at me differently."

Ammiteo frowned.  “Why would I see you any differently, Idrisar?  You’re the same person you’ve always been.  If your experience shook you up a little, nobody can blame you.”

Idrisar lowered his gaze and sighed.  “Right.  Well, please come into the den and we can see about that drink I promised you.  Would you prefer whiskey, or a glass of my cinnamon liqueur?”

As much a victim of machismo upbringing as many other sires and human men, Ammiteo chose the more masculine of the two drinks.  “Whiskey, please.”

Idrisar looked at him with a subtly concealed grin.  “Cinnamon liqueur, it is.”

Ammiteo tried to look ignorant.  “I…uh…asked for whiskey.”

"But you _want_ the liqueur,” observed Idrisar in a faintly amused tone.  “I won’t tell anyone, Ammiteo.  Indulge in a guilty pleasure, while you’re my guest.”

Ammiteo couldn’t help but return his smile and he sighed, laughing softly under his breath.  “I thought my poker face was intact.  What gave me away?”

"The faint grimace you made when you gave me your first answer," supplied Idrisar.  They made it into the den and after replacing the gun in the little drawer, Idrisar gestured at the loveseat.  "Please, make yourself at home."

Ammiteo sat down and waited as Idrisar went to pour him a drink.  He picked up the newspaper and set it on the coffee table, so that the lifebearer would have room to sit down beside him.  “I think I’ve mentioned it before, but I really do like your home.  It has a history and charm to it that you don’t find much in the city, anymore.”

Idrisar returned to the den with a tumbler of red liqueur in his left hand.  He offered it to Ammiteo as he sat down beside him.  As the sire took it, Idrisar retrieved his own drink and relaxed beside the bigger man with a sigh.  He looked around at the interior of his den and he nodded.

"I love old houses," confessed the lifebearer.  "Like you said; they have a history about them.  This place was run down when I bought it.  I could have bought something newer and much smaller in the suburbs, but this place just spoke to me.  It felt like the right house to raise my sons in, and I enjoyed the challenge of fixing it up.  I’m proud to say that the equity value of this house is much higher now than it was when I first moved in."

"You’ve done a great job with it," Ammiteo said sincerely.  He took a sip of his drink and he savored the unusual flavor for a moment before examining the ruby liquid in the glass.  "So, I grimaced?  Really?"

Idrisar chuckled and held a hand up, demonstrating about an inch space between his thumb and forefinger.  “Just a little.  A civilian probably wouldn’t have noticed it.”

"I’ll have to practice my facial expressions, more."  Ammiteo smirked and put an arm around Idrisar’s shoulder, sensing that it was an appropriate time to do it. 

Idrisar cuddled up to him—which Ammiteo found irresistibly endearing.  The lifebearer added to the cuteness of the moment by laying his head on his broad shoulder.  Warmed by both the liqueur and his companion’s actions, Ammiteo stroked the dark, soft hair and he looked at the fireplace.  Had it been lit, this would have been the perfect romantic moment.

"Tsyther did…other things to me…when he had me hostage."

The soft admission made Ammiteo freeze and it shattered the romantic moment like a mirror, revealing the vulnerability behind Idrisar’s actions.  “What sort of things?”  Ammiteo looked down at the dark head resting against his shoulder, almost dreading the answer but needing to hear it.

Idrisar went silent, his body tensing.

"What did he do to you, Idrisar?" demanded Ammiteo in frustration. 

Idrisar took his head off the sire’s shoulder and looked at him with a confused, equally frustrated expression on his sculpted face.  “I…don’t know why I said anything.  I told myself it wouldn’t go beyond Zevian and Glaive, but…” He trailed off, looking younger and more vulnerable by the second.

Ammiteo’s throat ached as understanding came to him.  Since both Saber and Glaive had delved into Idrisar’s innermost thoughts with their spirit singing, they must have seen whatever it was the agent was trying to keep from him now.  He suffered a moment of purely selfish, irrational jealousy that Idrisar would share his experience with them and not with him, but he firmly reminded himself of the circumstances. 

"You can tell me," Ammiteo said gently, sensing that the lifebearer was ready to get up and walk away.  He put his drink down and he took Idrisar’s from him and set it down beside it on the coffee table.  He took both of the lifebearer’s hands and gazed into his eyes, willing him to trust him. 

"Idrisar, I can only assume you started to tell me a moment ago because you trust me, and I hope that means you feel safe with me, too.  I assume you haven’t told the counselors about this, whatever it is."

"No," answered the agent, lowering his gaze.  "I didn’t tell them.  You’re right, though; I _do_ feel safe with you.  I just don’t want you to see me as a victim.”

Ammiteo impulsively cupped his chin and he urged him to look at him.  “I could _never_ think of you as a victim.  If I haven’t made it clear to you yet, you’re the strongest person I know.  Nothing Sandman or anyone else could do to you would change my perception of you.”

Idrisar studied his face for a few moments, before taking a deep breath and speaking in a flat, dull tone.  “He molested me sexually, and he did it in a way that would leave most people wondering if it was really an assault or not.”

The words: “molested me sexually” hit Ammiteo like a fist in the gut, and it took him a moment to comprehend the second half of the answer.  He frowned at Idrisar and stroked his hair, doing his best to keep his tone soothing and supportive.  “I don’t understand what that second part means,” he confessed.

Idrisar laid a hand over the one cupping his chin and he closed his eyes, his features tensing with the memory of the events.  “He…made my body respond to his touch,” whispered the lifebearer.  To his credit, Idrisar didn’t sound so much ashamed as disgusted.  “He did something to my senses, and even though I wasn’t the least bit willing in my mind or heart, my body betrayed me.”

Ammiteo knew what a true test of anger management was, at that moment.  He stroked Idrisar’s hair again, sick with the thought of that man violating his body and mind at the same time.  “Did he make you…” He couldn’t finish.

"No."  Idrisar shook his head so vehemently that his bangs covered his eyes.  He quickly combed them away with his fingers and gazed into Ammiteo’s eyes sincerely.  "He didn’t get the chance.  He didn’t get further than a grope and a sadistic promise, and I have _you_ to thank for that.”

Ammiteo wasn’t concerned with more praise for doing the only thing that was right.  His concern was for the truth.  “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but are you being honest with me about that, or are you simply telling me what you think I want to hear?”

Idrisar seemed to consider the question, his dark brows furrowed pensively as he searched for an answer.  “Ammiteo, if you had spirit singing abilities, I swear by my family that I would let you read me, right now.  I’m being completely honest with you.  I didn’t want to tell you, but if I have to say it aloud to someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

The sire felt shamed.  “Idrisar, I didn’t mean to imply that you’re dishonest.  I just know how proud you can be, and I don’t want you to be afraid to ask for help or comfort if you need it.”

"I know," assured the lifebearer with a wistful little smile.  He sniffed suspiciously and blinked before speaking again.  "And I think that’s why I told you, before I even realized what I was saying." 

Idrisar picked up his drink and cuddled up to the bigger man again, folding his denim-clad legs up on the loveseat as he rested his cheek against Ammiteo’s shoulder.  “It hurts,” he murmured, “knowing that two men saw what I would have preferred to keep to myself.  I had no choice, with Saber and Glaive.  There was no way to avoid either of them seeing what happened.”

"I’m sorry."  Ammiteo wanted to punch himself for feeling even a second of petty jealousy over such a thing.  "I just wish I could have prevented any of it from happening to you at all."  He hugged the lifebearer gently with one arm and he looked down at him as Idrisar sipped his drink.

Idrisar looked up at him.  “Don’t apologize anymore.  I think my subconscious mind was trying to tell me something, when it decided to come clean to you.” 

He raised his head from Ammiteo’s shoulder and sat up straight, regarding him calmly.  “My choices were taken from me while I was a hostage, and they were taken again after I was rescued.  I’m taking them back.  You’re the third person to know what happened, but if it had been up to me, you would have been the _only_ one.  I trust you to keep this between us, Ammiteo.”

Ammiteo understood completely, and rather than use words to convey it, he held the other man’s gaze and nodded gravely.  Perhaps foolishly, he decided to lean in for a kiss.  Idrisar didn’t stop him or protest, so Ammiteo pressed his lips against his and cupped the back of his head gently.  Idrisar returned the kiss and Ammiteo opted to keep it simple, resisting the urge to slip a little tongue into it.  His instincts paid off.  Idrisar combed his fingers through the sire’s short-cut, white-gold hair and he relaxed in his embrace. 

For long moments, they kissed tenderly and reveled in one another’s company.  When his libido began to threaten his control over the situation, Ammiteo broke the kiss and nuzzled Idrisar’s cheek affectionately.  Idrisar didn’t complain, which told him he made the right move.  What the smaller lashran needed right now was comfort and support, not sexual advances.  Ammiteo was happy to give that to him, and clamped down on his greedy frustration and reached for his forgotten drink. 

"Have you read the newspaper yet?" Idrisar murmured after a few moments of companionable silence.

"I spent the day doing taxes," answered the sire in a slightly mournful tone.

Idrisar chuckled.  “Well, there’s a perfectly good paper on the coffee table.  Why don’t we read it together?  I didn’t get very far into it before you arrived.”

Of all the things to dream about when imagining what he would do with a lifebearer like Idrisar, reading the paper together happened to be one of his favorite domestic fantasies.  His cousin would have teased him endlessly, if he knew.  Ammiteo couldn’t quite contain his smile as he put his drink down and reached for the paper.  “I like that idea.”

* * *

 

Some forty-five minutes later, Ammiteo was still going through the Sports section when he heard a soft, barely perceptible snore issue from his companion.  He paused and looked down at the sable head resting on his shoulder, noticing for the first time that Idrisar’s glass was tilted at a dangerous angle in his lap.  Luckily, he’d already drunk the liqueur so there was no risk of spillage. 

Loathe to disturb him, Ammiteo gingerly draped the newspaper over the arm of the loveseat and checked his watch.  Seeing the time, he grimaced a little.  The longer days and the time change were going to take some getting used to; it was later than he thought.  The sire took a moment to caress his companion’s face before gently shaking him.

"Idrisar, it’s close to ten.  I think I should go."

Idrisar came awake with a little start, and he peered narrowly at the clock on the mantle.  He shrugged and gave Ammiteo a sleepy smile.  “You don’t have to go home, this late at night.  I have two spare bedrooms, remember?”

Ammiteo blinked, taken by surprise by the offer to stay overnight.  Granted, he wasn’t offering his own bed to him, but they had agreed to keep things chaste, for now.  They would work out how to balance their working relationship and romantic one _after_ they solved the Sandman case.  Seeing a returning hint of vulnerability in that gaze, he couldn’t resist.

"You’re sure you don’t mind?"

"Of course not," assured Idrisar, "and you’ve had alcohol to drink.  I’m not letting you spend money on a cab again, the way you did the last time.  Please, Ammiteo, be my guest for the night."

A playful twinkle lit the pale blue eyes.  “You can lock your door, if you’re worried I might find my way into your bed in the night.”

Ammiteo chuckled, playing along.  He hugged Idrisar briefly and kissed him on the cheek.  “If I thought there was a chance of _that_ happening, I’d leave my door hanging wide open.”

Idrisar snorted.  “ _Now_ you sound like Saber.”

* * *

     

-To be continued


	26. Chapter 26

* * *

When Idrisar returned to work again, Glaive requested that he stop by his and Haden’s suite after his shift to “discuss something related to the case” and Idrisar braced himself, expecting to be questioned further about the things Glaive saw when he scanned him.  Instead, the lishere offered him a ribbon-wrapped, ghostwood box as soon as Haden let him in and shut the door.  Idrisar looked down at the box in his hands suspiciously and he stroked a thumb over the burgundy velvet ribbon.

"What’s this?"

Glaive and Haden stood side by side, grinning like a pair of boys offering a gift on parents’ day.  “Open it,” insisted the lishere with a nod at the box.  “I promise, nothing will jump out at you.”

Idrisar wasn’t so certain of that, but he trusted Wolfe at least to have the decency not to prank him so soon after his ordeal.  He untied the ribbon and lifted the lid off the box, setting it on the nearby counter.  He peered into the container with a frown and he shifted the tissue paper aside.  When a metallic glint caught his eye, he blinked and dug the tissue paper out of the box hastily.  There, nestled in the remaining paper was his favorite weapon—polished up and looking like brand new.  Idrisar raised his eyes to stare at the two agents with open astonishment.

"My Mokalor!  I thought I had lost it."  He lifted the item out of the box and he equipped it reverently.  The sheaths slid over his fingers with comforting familiarity, custom designed for his hand alone.  There was no doubt about it; this was _his_ Mokalor…not a replica.  Idrisar turned his hand so that the palm was facing down, and he traced the smooth stone in the center on top with his other fingers.

"Where did you get this?"  Idrisar looked up at the two pleased faces, honestly puzzled.  "Tsyther took it from me, and I had no time to reclaim it when I made my escape."

Haden answered before his partner could.  “Glaive found it during the raid on Sandman’s compound.”

Idrisar frowned.  “There wasn’t any mention of it in the raid report.  I would have expected them to hold it as evidence for a while, until it could be examined for bugs.”

"I snitched it before anyone else saw it," answered Glaive with a shrug of his bare shoulders.  The black-netted muscle shirt with criss-crossing leather straps he wore made him look dangerous and fashionable at the same time.  "I thought if you had a choice between your glasses or your Mokalor, you would have chosen to have the latter returned to you immediately."

Idrisar raised dark brows at him.  “So you took a piece of evidence from the scene without alerting anyone?”

Glaive grimaced a little, and he gave Haden an “ _I told you so_ " look. 

Seeing this, the knight rose to his partner’s defense.  “Agent Blackbird, Glaive and I checked that thing out thoroughly and we didn’t find any sign of tampering.  If we thought it would help to turn it in, we would have.  Glaive didn’t see the point in letting them keep what’s yours from you and I agreed with him.”

Idrisar relaxed, unable to find fault with them.  “I understand that, and I’m sure your intensions were good.  My only real issue is the possibility that this could be used as a tracking component.  Tsyther has been in contact with it and while I’m no sorcerer, I’m sure part of his essence was lingering on it when you collected it.  The Bargel might have found some use for that.”

"Which is why I turned in your glasses, when I found them."  Glaive crossed his arms over his chest.  "I considered the situation before I made my decision not to mention the Mokalor, Agent Blackbird.  I denied nothing to the investigation by returning what’s rightfully yours to you, and if you ask me to feel shame for it, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you.  I think you’ve been through enough and this was the least I could do."

Idrisar smirked at the taller Ulvari.  “In that case, I think I can let this one slide.”  He looked down at his beloved weapon—which had become as much a part of him as his own hand.  That was how specialists were trained; to think of the Mokalor as an extension of themselves.  The weapon was the one material thing he possessed that Idrisar truly treasured, besides little family keepsakes. 

"Besides, Agent Blackbird without his Mokalor would be like a panther without claws," quipped Glaive, sensing he was off the hook.

Idrisar paled, looked up at him and he couldn’t quite hide the troubled expression that flashed over his face.  “Please, no ‘cat claw’ analogies, Agent.”

Both of them looked slightly confused for a moment, but Glaive’s coral gaze softened with understanding and he nodded.  He _had_ , after all, witnessed what Idrisar endured at Tsyther’s hands.  “My apologies, Blackbird.  I’ll keep that in mind.”

Idrisar willed his tension away, forcing his body to relax.  “No harm done.  Thank you for this, Agent Glaive.  This is probably the most thoughtful gift anyone has given me all year.”

Glaive lowered his gaze and Idrisar was amused to note that he seemed a little bashful.  “My pleasure.”  He quickly changed the subject.  “So, how are you getting along with these wankers they’ve got assigned to babysit us?  Do you think their presence is speeding up the process of this case?” 

Idrisar grimaced and sighed, pacing back and forth to vent his agitation.  “No, I _don’t_ think their presence is speeding this investigation up, nor has it made this organization more secure.  We finally had a system working for us and everyone knew their roles and how to work with each other.  All three of the departments were beginning to synchronize beautifully and even though it was long overdue, it was falling into place.  The recent happenings can’t be blamed entirely on our organization.  The Cothmere branch hasn’t dealt with Sandman the way we have, and they don’t understand how resourceful he is.  I have a feeling they’re in for a nasty shock, if they continue to blame all of this on negligence.”

"Any idea how we can get rid of them faster?" Haden asked, completely sincere.

Idrisar chuckled without humor and combed his fingers through his hair.  “Cooperate with them.  Keep helping them with the investigation, don’t cause trouble and smile through your frustration when they speak to you.  The sooner we convince them we’re capable of working together, the sooner we’ll regain full control of this facility again.  Short of espionage against our own people, that’s the only way to speed up their egress from our branch.”

Glaive frowned.  “The longer we have to deal with their constraints on our activities and investigation, the more we lose.  We have an advantage over Tsyther right now.  He’s been forced to retreat with his bitches and we should be tightening the noose while we can.  Keeping the pressure on him will lessen the chances of him using any information he got from you against us.”

"I know that," agreed Idrisar, his tension mounting again.  "I know that all too well, and so does Ammiteo and Kent.  Reminding me of that fact won’t change anything."

Glaive sighed and nodded.  “Of course.”

"What about our friends?" pressed Idrisar, remembering Vurkanan and Aurora.  "Have they contacted you?"

"It’s been my understanding that they touch bases with Ammiteo, more than anyone," answered Glaive.  "You probably know more about their situation than we do, in that light."

"Yes, but they’ve been careful with their communications.  It can’t hurt to check.  They’ve got to lay low for a while and as far as I know, they are conducting their own search while we do ours."

Haden nodded.  “I’m sure they’ll contact someone if they find anything, and they’ll pop in the minute we need them.”

Glaive smirked sideling at his partner.  “’ _Pop in’_?  You’re starting to sound like me.”

Haden shrugged and stuck his hands into the pockets of his denim pants.  “Well, that’s kind of what they _do_ , isn’t it?  At least, that’s what Shard does.”

Thinking how often the sorcerer managed to appear and disappear out of thin air, Idrisar smiled.  “Yes, that seems to be his forte.  Well, I should get going.  I’d like to make it home before dark.  Thank you again for retrieving my Mokalor, Agent Glaive.”

The lishere nodded and his eyes held Idrisar’s for a moment.  “If you need us for anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

Idrisar felt his cheeks warming.  He couldn’t be sure, but he thought Glaive caught on that he didn’t want to be out alone after dark.  He nodded and kept his expression cool.  “Of course.  Goodnight.”

* * *

 

That evening, Ammiteo came by Idrisar’s house again.  The lifebearer staged annoyance, but in truth, he found the big sire’s presence comforting.  Idrisar admitted to himself that Ammiteo had good _reason_ to keep checking in on him.  Tsyther knew where he lived, after all.  He invited Ammiteo in and offered him a drink, secretly hoping he would stay the night again.  It was humbling, to feel this dependency on a sire, to need the security of his nearness in order to sleep well.  Idrisar told his companion none of this as he locked the door behind him and followed him into the den.

"I picked up a new liqueur," Idrisar announced as Ammiteo took a seat on the loveseat. "It’s by the same company that makes my cinnamon flavor, only it’s apple-cinnamon.  Would you like to try a glass with me?"

Ammiteo gave him a handsome grin of amusement.  “I think you’re a little bit addicted to that stuff.”

"Is that your way of saying I’m turning into an alcoholic?"  Idrisar winked, falling into the teasing mood.

"I don’t think you’re there yet," assured Ammiteo, "but you’re definitely a lush with the liqueur.  Having said that; I’d love to try some of your new flavor, thank you."

Idrisar chuckled.  “Coming right up.”  He glanced at the fireplace and took note of the chill in the air.  This could be the last time he could justify lighting a fire for the season.  “Would you mind starting the fire, for me?  It’s set up to go and the lighter is on the mantle.  All you have to do is turn the gas on and light it up until the wood catches.”

"Of course," agreed Ammiteo, getting out of his seat. 

He went to the mantle to retrieve the aforementioned lighter as Idrisar left the room.  The lifebearer spared a glance over his shoulder at his companion and he caught Ammiteo looking at his backside with admiring purple eyes.  The sire immediately looked away and cleared his throat when he realized he’d been caught.  Fighting a grin, Idrisar faced forward again and kept going.  He made it into the kitchen and he went to the cupboard where he kept all of his alcohol.  Upon opening it, he noticed with a frown that his bottle of regular cinnamon liqueur had been drained more than he expected.  He lifted it out of the cupboard and examined it. 

Since becoming a parent, Idrisar stayed in the habit of mentally marking his liquor bottles.  He’d once caught Bowen sneaking some of his scotch, back when he was just starting high school.  Ever since then—especially now that his grandsons were only a couple of years away from their tweens—he kept careful inventory of all medications and alcoholic products in his home. 

"I _am_ drinking too much,” whispered the agent after doing a quick calculation in his head.  It was a common ritual of his to have a nightcap before bed while reading the paper, but the bottle was missing twice as much as it should have.  Without even realizing it, Idrisar had doubled his liquor intake since his ordeal. 

He heaved a troubled sigh and retrieved a single glass from a different cupboard.  He opened the fresh bottle of the new flavor liqueur and he poured a glass for Ammiteo.  He’d apparently had enough, and his self-punishment of choice was to go without a nightcap for the evening. 

* * *

 

Ammiteo frowned in confusion when Idrisar returned to the den with only one glass of the drink.  He took it from the lifebearer with one raised brow, nodding at his other, empty hand meaningfully.  “Aren’t you going to try this experiment with me, or do you intend to wait and see if I survive it before you have some yourself?”

Idrisar’s somber expression dissolved into a smile.  “I’m not trying to poison you, I promise.  I just realized that I’ve already had my nightcap for the evening, that’s all.  I don’t want to over-indulge.”

"Ah, I see."  Ammiteo glanced at the brown-colored, viscous drink he held.  "Not to pressure you, but I always feel a little awkward when I’m the only one drinking.  Maybe this can wait for another time."

"Don’t be silly," chastised Idrisar gently.  He bit his lower lip in thought and evidently came to a decision.  "Wait here.  I’ll go and pour myself a nip to join you.  I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable and a little taste won’t hurt me."

"You don’t have to—"

"It’s okay," interrupted the lifebearer.  He leaned over Ammiteo to brush his lips against his for one brief, enticing moment.  "Really.  I’ll be right back."

Ammiteo smiled at him, dropping the argument.  It was amazing how one little kiss from a cute lifebearer could stupify a man so easily.

* * *

 

"Well, I’m back," sighed Idrisar when he opened the cupboard again and stared at the booze selection.  "But don’t think this means you’ve won.  I’m only imbibing for my guest."

It sounded like a lame excuse to him, and Idrisar made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t have another drink until the weekend, after this.  If he couldn’t make it for that long without imbibing, then he really _did_ have a problem and he’d need to look into a rehab program.  He was not going to let it get out of control, either way.  He’d seen the results of people allowing their indulgences to get the better of them and he refused to travel down that path.

Idrisar put it out of his mind for now and he poured his drink.  He thought of the big, powerful sire waiting for him in the other room and he started to smile.  He mentally reviewed the strong planes, angles and curves of Ammiteo’s body and he felt the warmth of desire spread through him.  Idrisar swallowed and tried to control his body’s natural reactions to the thought of coupling with Ammiteo. 

That was _one_ indulgence that wouldn’t require a commitment to rehab.  It was going to happen eventually; of that, Idrisar was certain.  The question was whether he could wait for much longer.  He’d raised his sons from children to men without knowing a sire’s touch again.  Plenty of lashran grieved for years over the loss of a mate, but not many remained celibate for so long.  As a race, they were too hot-blooded, and even the most conservative lashran couldn’t go indefinitely without sexual satisfaction or heavy use of Amsinol. 

"Forests, has it really been _that_ long?” Idrisar whispered, counting the years again. 

There had been nobody, since Leison.  He knew Bowen would prefer it to stay that way, but he had rather unrealistic expectations of what people’s sex lives should be like after the death of a spouse.  Sefon was far more realistic and supportive of the idea of Idrisar moving on and finding love again.

In fact, the more he thought of it, the more Idrisar began to wonder what on Wyndrah he was waiting for.  Procrastination made perfect sense at first, with the work relationship as a main factor and the complexity of the case as a secondary concern.  Now that he’d experienced kidnapping and abuse at Tsyther’s hands and Ammiteo narrowly avoided losing his job, Idrisar questioned whether it was really necessary to continue depriving himself and Ammiteo of what they both wanted. 

He looked down at the glass and raised his eyebrows.  Maybe imbibing right now was a _good_ idea, after all.  A little flirtation here and there was all well and good, but he was so out of practice with seduction, he didn’t know where to start.  He picked up the glass and swallowed the sparse amount of liqueur he’d poured into it.  He found the flavor to his liking, and he poured another, bigger serving.

"Liquid courage," he muttered, swallowing another mouthful in the hopes that the warm burn would kill the butterflies suddenly infesting his stomach.  "Just relax, Idrisar.  It’s not that complicated.  Just go in there, kiss him and…"

His eyes went blank and a hopelessly lost expression dominated his youthful face.  “And _then_ what?  Dear gods, I really don’t know!”

Before Ammiteo, his love life was with a man he’d become comfortable around.  Most of his “moves” dated back to before he and Leison even met, and he couldn’t for the life of him remember what any of them were.  He couldn’t even blame it on his experience with Sandman; it had simply been _that_ long ago and it wasn’t something he generally thought back on.  Even if he _could_ remember how he used to proceed from flirtation to foreplay, his methods were probably so outdated as to be laughable.  It would be like a woman trying to entice a modern man with the flash of an ankle.  He knew how to put on an act for an undercover role, but when it came to acting on honest feelings, he was terribly out of practice. 

"I…have no moves."

The confession was both humbling and utterly horrifying.  He had two options—neither of them particularly appealing.  He could give up thoughts of satisfying his needs tonight, or he could try to bluff his way through it, as if he were undercover.

Idrisar heaved another sigh.

* * *

 

Ammiteo was just beginning to wonder what was keeping his host, when Idrisar came walking slowly back into the den.  Ammiteo smiled and prepared to greet him, but the words stuck in his throat as he saw that the lifebearer’s royal blue shirt was unbuttoned halfway to his navel, baring his chest and part of his stomach to view.  The flickering light from the freshly lit fireplace caressed the bronze, toned skin and highlighted it with a soft orange glow.  Ammiteo had seen Idrisar’s bare torso before under various circumstances, but this was different.  Removing a sweaty shirt in the locker room or wearing a pair of swimming trunks was a normal, everyday thing and while the sire always quietly appreciated Idrisar’s body, those weren’t romantic situations.  This moment could be construed entirely differently, and it confused him. 

Ammiteo stared openly at the exposed flesh for a moment before dragging his eyes back up to Idrisar’s face.  The lifebearer’s expression was unreadable.  He’d removed his glasses and he stared at Ammiteo with intense, pale blue eyes.  He’d taken off his Mokalor too, leaving his left hand as bare as his right. 

"Is everything okay?"  Ammiteo barely recognized his own voice.  He half expected it to crack like a pubescent adolescent’s. 

Idrisar nodded, his shiny dark hair reflecting the firelight as he approached.  He began to unbutton his shirt the rest of the way, holding Ammiteo’s gaze all the while.  “Everything is fine.  I’ve just had an epiphany.”

"What sort of epiphany?" queried the sire, his eyes drawn to the deft motions of Idrisar’s fingers as the lifebearer flicked open the rest of his shirt buttons. 

"I’m tired of waiting."  Idrisar finished unbuttoning the garment and he pulled it open a bit.  "Aren’t you?"  He began to unbuckle the belt looped through his black trousers.

It began to dawn on Ammiteo that he was quite possibly about to get laid.  Such awareness usually resulted in excitement, of course, but he was unprepared for the rush of pure, raw passion he felt.  He tensed in his seat as he fought the urge to jump up and grab the smaller man.  Mauling Idrisar was no way to respond to his gentle, cajoling seduction.  Ammiteo swallowed hard, reminding himself that Idrisar had recently suffered through a horrible ordeal and could possibly be acting out of desperation, rather than desire.  Learning the signs of trauma was part of every agent’s training, but with Idrisar, it was difficult to tell.

"B-but I thought we were going to wait until the case is resolved," stammered Ammiteo, rapidly losing his cool.  Idrisar could have given strippers lessons in seductive body language.  The motions of his hands were graceful and effortless as he opened his belt and began to unbutton his pants.  Ammiteo set his drink aside and impulsively wiped his mouth to check for drool.

"That was the original plan, yes," agreed the lifebearer.  He popped open the button at the top of his trousers, and then he grasped the tab of his fly zipper.  He slowly dragged it down, still staring into Ammiteo’s eyes.  The bulge in the crotch of the garment was proof of his arousal.  "Things have changed, however."

"What things?"  Ammiteo automatically slid his hands around Idrisar’s waist as he got onto the loveseat and straddled his lap.  He parted his lips as Idrisar kissed him softly on the mouth, and he shifted uncomfortably at the pressure in his pants when the tip of the lifebearer’s moist tongue traced his lips.

"My priorities," murmured Idrisar in answer.  His Nandarian accent grew stronger with his arousal and it made his honeyed words that much more seductive.  He spoke between little kisses and licks.  "My captivity gave me time to reflect on some things, and I came to a conclusion while I was pouring my drink.  I’m no longer willing to wait.  There’s no telling how long it will take to bring Tsyther in, and something could happen to one of us.  The right moment is _now_ , Ammiteo.”

The director would have liked nothing better than to agree with Idrisar and take him right then and there, but his love and respect for him enabled him to think through his lust enough to question the motivation.  “Idrisar, you’ve been through a lot,” he murmured against the silken, shapely lips.  “What he tried to do to you—”

“ _Tried_ ,” interrupted Idrisar sternly.  He pulled back to look at Ammiteo, his gaze direct and bold.  “What he _tried_ to do to me.  He did not succeed, and I won’t allow his actions to set the pace for my life or rule my decisions, Ammiteo.”

Ammiteo ran his hands over the smaller man’s ribcage in a possessive caress, before sliding them around to stroke his back beneath the open shirt.  The skin was so smooth and soft, and the lithe muscles beneath provided an appealing contrast.  “I just don’t want to take advantage.”

 Idrisar smiled softly at him.  “You aren’t.  Look, I’m going to drop the act, Ammiteo.  I can’t remember what’s sexy and what’s sleazy anymore, and I’ve pretended so often for my job that it’s almost second nature to me.”  He sighed and bit his lip, looking away for a moment before meeting his eyes again.  “I want everything about our first time to be honest.  I don’t want to give you an act.  I’m telling you this as me…as Idrisar.  This isn’t a sudden whim.  I’ve wanted you for a long time.  This isn’t my trauma talking, and it isn’t my need to reclaim control of my life.”

Idrisar reached around to take one of Ammiteo’s bigger hands in his and he raised it to his mouth, kissing the fingertips, the palm and the thumb before resting it on his bare chest, over his beating heart.  “I’m telling you this from _here_ , Ammiteo.  No games.  I just want to be with you.  If you aren’t ready, I can accept that, but _please_ don’t reject me on the notion that I don’t know what I want.”

 Ammiteo went utterly still and he stared at him for so long, Idrisar squirmed and seemed uncertain of himself.  Before the lifebearer could move from his straddling position on his lap, Ammiteo found his voice and spoke his mind.

"You say you don’t know what’s sexy anymore, but that has to be the sexiest thing anyone’s ever said to me."

A hesitant, shy smile curved Idrisar’s lips, transforming his look from a sex kitten to a bashful, surprised virgin in seconds.  “Really?  It is?”

Ammiteo couldn’t contain his grin of endearment.  “Congratulations for breaking your own record, agent. _That_ has to be the cutest smile I’ve ever seen.”

Idrisar inadvertently made himself even cuter with a blush.  “I’m losing sexy points, aren’t I?”

Ammiteo shook his head, his groin throbbing with need.  “Not at all.”

He didn’t think anything more needed to be said.  Ammiteo reached up with his other hand and cupped the back of Idrisar’s head, drawing it down for a kiss.  He eased his tongue past the parted lips and explored the warm recesses of Idrisar’s mouth, and he brushed the pad of his thumb over a nipple in a gentle, circular motion until it hardened.  He gave the other nipple the same treatment and he ran his fingers through Idrisar’s hair as he deepened the kiss.  The low sound of pleasure and arousal reverberating in the lifebearer’s throat was encouraging, and Ammiteo took his time stimulating the pebbled nipples, one at a time. 

Idrisar shifted his weight on top of him and their straining groins touched through the layers of their clothing.  Ammiteo raised his hips a little to grind against his companion, his breath quickening with excitement.  Idrisar tugged the sire’s crew shirt out of his pants and slipped both hands up under it, to knead and caress Ammiteo’s tight-muscled torso with quietly aggressive enthusiasm.  Ammiteo had never been with a lifebearer that managed to be possessive and demure at the same time, and the contradiction was intoxicating.  Idrisar was a hell of a kisser, too.  He alternated between dominance and submission, sometimes pushing his tongue into Ammiteo’s mouth, only to withdraw and invite the sire’s tongue into his. 

Ammiteo stopped stroking Idrisar’s hair and he slid his hand down his back to cup his bottom, giving it a squeeze before moving his hand around to the front.  He fumbled with the lifebearer’s open pants, eager to touch him but wary of moving too fast.  One of Idrisar’s hands stopped stroking his chest and stomach to help him, and Ammiteo was quietly thankful for that.  Idrisar freed his stiffened erection from his pants while Ammiteo tugged his underwear down to make it easier for him. 

The sire broke the kiss to look down at the exposed cock, examining it with an admiring gaze.  The organ tightened a little as he watched, and Ammiteo couldn’t resist curling his hand around the shaft to grip it.  He stroked downwards to fully expose the sensitive head and he admired the flushed, dew-capped glans. 

"Beautiful," he murmured, looking back up at Idrisar’s face. 

He smiled again when he saw the way the lifebearer was biting his pouty lower lip in an uncertain manner.  He gently stroked the length of his cock from root to tip, watching Idrisar’s face as he did so.  The lifebearer released his lip from between his teeth and he blurted a swift, soft gasp.  He sounded surprised.  One of his hands was lightly gripping Ammiteo’s wrist, though he wasn’t trying to stop him.  The other was still exploring his torso, steadily drifting further down south.  Ammiteo gave him another gentle stroke…and another after that.  Idrisar’s brow furrowed and he stared at him with that same curious expression of surprise.

"Does it feel okay?" pressed Ammiteo, worried that he might be squeezing too hard or chafing him.

The question seemed to take Idrisar off guard and he blinked.  “Oh, yes.”  He nodded vehemently and his bangs fell over his right eye.  “Ammiteo, it’s _fantastic_.  Don’t stop.”

The sire was more than happy to comply.

* * *

 

He hadn’t meant to zone out that way when Ammiteo’s big, calloused hand first gripped his sex and fondled it.  Idrisar honestly hadn’t been prepared for the range of sensations it provoked.  It was nothing like the feel of his own hand on it and it certainly wasn’t like Tsyther’s revolting touch.  To be stroked with such loving care was a treat he’d sorely missed, in his years of abstinence.  There was such power in those hands, but they were so gentle on him, and so thorough at the same time. 

"Ammiteo," he gasped after the fifth stroke. 

He shuddered and remembered to keep breathing.  He closed in for another kiss and this time, the sire’s mouth was demanding against his—yet still somehow gentle.  Idrisar went with it, giving in to the needs he’d been denying for so long.  He purred into Ammiteo’s mouth as he explored his body and even when he had to pause to let the bigger man pull his shirt the rest of the way off, he let his kisses convey his passion.  When his shirt hit the floor, Idrisar returned the favor and helped Ammiteo pull his over his head.  Both garments soon lay in a pile and Idrisar couldn’t touch his companion’s broad shoulders or tight pecs enough to suit him.  He surveyed the landscape with one hand while working Ammiteo’s pants open with the other.

Their mouths parted and Idrisar tilted his head back as Ammiteo’s lips kissed the column of his throat.  Ammiteo’s pants came unzipped and after practicing a bit of impatient finesse, Idrisar got a hand into them and got his first feel of his endowments.  He smiled softly, his eyes still shut with pleasure.

"I’m suitably impressed," he murmured.  "Though I think this could take a bit of work."

Ammiteo apparently understood what he meant, because he and nodded and spoke in a gentle voice against his throat.  “You set the pace, Idrisar.  I’ll follow your lead and do whatever you want.”

"I’m happy you said that," sighed the lifebearer.  He worked the thick, long shaft free of its confinement and he began to stroke it.  He wasn’t particularly worried about lubrication—that part was taking care of itself as he spoke—but he would have to be careful not to try to take too much, too fast.

Ammiteo moved beneath him, lifting into his touch as he in turn fondled Idrisar.  Their mouths met again and locked into a deep kiss.  Muffled moans of pleasure were exchanged as they stimulated one another.  Idrisar felt his companion’s heart pounding beneath his palm as he dragged it over his chest and he provoked a groan of pleasure when he gave one of Ammiteo’s nipples a gentle squeeze.  He found himself lifted and turned, suddenly, and then he was on his back with the sire’s hard body pressing him down.  There wasn’t enough room on the loveseat, and Idrisar’s left leg hung over the side, while Ammiteo half-crouched over him.

"Wait," urged Idrisar when he realized the position was going to become both awkward and uncomfortable for them, "Let’s take the blanket off the back of the couch, over there."  He nodded at the piece of furniture against the wall by the hallway, where a quilt was spread over the back of it.  "We can spread it over the floor."

"Good idea," approved Ammiteo, and he got off of Idrisar to fetch the blanket.

Idrisar tried not to stare as Ammiteo’s impressive erection wobbled with his motions, and he helped the bigger man spread the blanket over the floor in front of the loveseat.  He supposed that ideally, they should be heading for his bedroom for this, but he didn’t want to take the time to put out the fireplace and seal it.  Besides, making love in front of a fire was classically romantic, and Idrisar couldn’t think of a more perfect setting for their first time. 

He smiled at Ammiteo as they finished spreading the quilt, and the butterflies returned to his stomach.  They both removed their shoes and socks before crawling onto the blanket.  Ammiteo urged him close and Idrisar came into his arms again gladly.  They kissed on their knees for a few moments, before the sire began to urge Idrisar to lie down.  Ammiteo followed him to the floor and Idrisar was again guided onto his back.  He fell immediately in love with the way Ammiteo’s big frame lay full-length against his, and the way the sire was mindful not to put his full weight on him.  Idrisar ran both hands over Ammiteo’s bare chest, before sliding them down and working on getting him out of his pants.

The action seemed to fire the starting pistol for both of them.  The passion returned full-force, overriding the brief moment of shyness both men had been revisiting.  Idrisar realized something that gave him pause, when they both got their pants off and lay naked together. 

"You’re trembling," he murmured, stroking his hands over the tense, broad shoulders hovering above him.  He looked up at Ammiteo with concern.  "Are you cold?"

Ammiteo shook his head, his lavender eyes aglow with lust.  “No.  I’m just…excited.  Maybe a little nervous, too.”

The honesty in that husky, somewhat unsteady admission touched Idrisar, and despite his own excitement and nervousness, he smiled again.  He caressed Ammiteo’s chiseled features and his voice wasn’t entirely steady as he answered.  “I’m a little nervous too, but I think it will fade, soon.  Come here.”

Ammiteo didn’t fight him as he curved his hand around to the back of his head to draw it down to him.  Their lips met again and there was no more talk of being nervous.

* * *

 

Perhaps a half hour later, Ammiteo was satisfied that Idrisar was ready for him.  He’d taken his time fondling him and preparing him with his fingers, though he still had lingering doubts.  He was so worried about hurting him that he decided it would be best to let Idrisar straddle him.  He’d been serious when he spoke of letting him set the pace, and he thought the best way to do that was to give him complete control over the angle and depth of penetration.

With that idea in mind, he eased off of the smaller man and sat cross-legged before him.  He motioned Idrisar to him when he gave him a faintly puzzled look, and Idrisar seemed to catch on quickly.  The lifebearer straddled him and put his arms around his neck, kissing him and lifting up as Ammiteo carefully positioned his erection.  The tight ring of muscle slowly eased down over the tip and Ammiteo suppressed a groan.  Idrisar broke the kiss and took slow, steadying breaths, looking into his eyes as he began to take him inside.  The dark brows hedged with discomfort when the tip of Ammiteo’s sex eased in, and for a moment, Ammiteo feared that Idrisar couldn’t take it. 

Idrisar licked his lips, gave Ammiteo a tremulous little smile and kept going, claiming his stiffened length little by little.  He exhaled with relief when he was fully seated and he rested his forehead against the sire’s, biting his lip.  He was _so tight_ around Ammiteo, despite the care he’d taken to ready him.  The sire rubbed his back soothingly, torn between exquisite pleasure and worry.

"It’s okay," promised Idrisar breathlessly, sensing his concern.  He kissed him softly and pulled his head away a bit to look into the sire’s eyes.  "I’ll adjust.  It’s just been a long time for me.  You’re being very patient.  Thank you."

Ammiteo wasn’t expecting to be thanked for trying to be a considerate lover, but then, Idrisar was a Nandar-raised lifebearer from an older generation.  He’d always had impeccable manners and the warmth in his gaze showed that his gratitude was sincere.  Ammiteo stroked his hair and kissed him tenderly, putting his lust and pleasure on the back burner for the sake of the smaller man’s comfort.  He had nothing of value to say in response, so he kept rubbing his back and he kissed his neck and jaw, waiting for the quivering tightness around him to relax a bit more.  He moved one hand around to the front and between Idrisar’s parted thighs, to fondle his erection.  At least it was still fully swollen and firm in his hand—which meant his companion’s discomfort wasn’t draining his arousal.

Several minutes ticked by, and Idrisar’s return kisses became more passionate.  His body still gripped Ammiteo’s length tightly, but he could feel the spasms stopping and he felt the slippery dribble of precum coating the tip of Idrisar’s cock.  He pulled away to look at the lifebearer curiously, watching his face as Idrisar began to rock on top of him.  The crystal blue eyes were shut and a flush was spreading over the sculpted cheekbones.  Idrisar’s lips were parted and a soft moan escaped them as he withdrew from Ammiteo’s length, and then eased back down on it.  Idrisar’s eyes opened as the organ pressed firmly against the inner walls of his passage and he trembled, looking oddly helpless. 

Guessing the expression was one of shocked pleasure and hoping against all hope he was right, Ammiteo stopped fondling Idrisar’s cock and he gripped his hips, gently shifting his pelvis to synchronize with the lifebearer’s motions.  Another moan escaped and Ammiteo kissed those parted lips passionately, his conscious thoughts giving way to instinct.  He guided his companion’s motions, helping him find the rhythm that felt best.  The unexpected whimper of pleasure he got from Idrisar as a result made his ego swell and Ammiteo groaned his name into his mouth, consumed with passion for him. 

Though part of him wanted to lay Idrisar down on the quilt and ravish him, the protective part of Ammiteo won out and he refused to get rough.  That this was happening at all after what Idrisar had been through was a bit of a miracle, and he’d be damned if he was going to allow his selfish urges ruin it.  This was perfect…this was love.  Every gyrating motion, every gasp, every kiss was a thing to treasure for the rest of his days.

Unlike another young lashran caught up in a similar relationship with an older man, Ammiteo wasn’t particularly afraid to tell Idrisar how he felt.  In fact, this was the one time in his life he felt he could put aside the macho stoicism and just say what was in his heart.  He broke the kiss and looked at his companion’s beautiful, passionate face, admiring the flash of lust in his riveting gaze.

"Do you…have any _idea_ …how much you mean to me?”

A sensual little smirk adorned the sensitive mouth.  “I think…I can guess.”  Idrisar sobered, his expression gentling and his eyes softening.  “Love you, Ammiteo.”

Again, the sire was surprised.  He hadn’t expected Idrisar to be the first one to use the “L word”, and it filled him with relief and joy.  He hugged the lifebearer tightly and rested his cheek against his chest, just below his collarbone.  Idrisar stroked his hair and kissed the crown of his head as he steadily rocked on top of him.  His breath caught as Ammiteo released one of his arms from around him to resume stroking his erection, and he shuddered subtly.  The fingertips of his left hand kneaded Ammiteo’s back in a way that made him thankful he wasn’t wearing his Mokalor.  He’d probably be skewered and shredded to ribbons by now, if he had.

They stayed like that for nearly twenty minutes, gently rocking before the fire.  Idrisar murmured his pleasure and praised Ammiteo softly, planting soft kisses over his face and stroking his hair.  After a while, the smaller man looked down at Ammiteo with a needy expression on his face, and he arched back and braced his palms on the floor behind him.  His legs were still wrapped around Ammiteo’s waist and his hips continued to roll smoothly as he demonstrated his limberness.  Pale blue eyes glinted at the sire from beneath sooty black lashes, silently asking for something. 

Working on a guess, Ammiteo shifted carefully and uncrossed his legs, repositioning himself so that he was kneeling between the smaller man’s thighs.  He felt more confident when he saw the approving look in his companion’s eye and he knew he’d need to be careful, now.  This position allowed him much more control over his thrusts, and he suspected that was why Idrisar chose it.  In his subtle way, Idrisar was inviting him to take the lead, now that his body had adjusted.

Ammiteo started to thrust a little deeper and harder, gradually increasing the force of his motions so as not to hurt his companion.  Idrisar tossed his head back and moaned, his erection twitching tellingly in the sire’s hand.  Ammiteo grinned a little with understanding.  He’d found the “magic angle”.  This position must be best for that, in Idrisar’s case.  He kept it up and he released the lifebearer’s hip to stroke his hand over his chest and stomach, admiring the muscle tone and metallic bronze skin.  He found Idrisar’s bellybutton to be unreasonably cute and sexy, and he traced it lovingly with his fingertips before moving back up to stimulate his dusky nipples. 

"A…Ammiteo," gasped Idrisar in a tight, shaken voice.  His back arched further and he fell back onto his elbows, panting heavily.

Ammiteo kept at it, fighting back his own orgasm with determination as he strove to give his companion the release he deserved.  Idrisar’s eyes shut tightly and his hands clenched into fists.  His ass clamped down hard on Ammiteo’s thrusting sex and his erection bucked in the sire’s hand, spurting pearly, thick fluid.  The sight of it and the expression on his face, combined with the feel of him clenching around his cock, drove Ammiteo over the edge.  He groaned and bowed his head, thrusting one last time into Idrisar’s body and filling him with his seed. 

Idrisar fell back onto the quilt as he spent himself, and Ammiteo eased his body on top of him when his climax tapered off.  He kissed the lifebearer’s gasping lips, smiling in spite of himself with satisfaction as the afterglow washed over him.  He tasted the beads of perspiration on Idrisar’s throat next, and he lovingly licked them off. 

"You’re amazing," Ammiteo murmured when he finally had the breath to say something.

Idrisar stroked his chest as if he couldn’t help himself and he smiled at him with lazy pleasure.  “So I didn’t disappoint?  I’m terribly out of practice.”

Ammiteo shook his head vehemently.  “Hell, no.  You even introduced me to a new position.  That was like heaven, to me.”

Idrisar chuckled and he sighed, gazing up at him with content blue eyes.  “I must return the compliment.  You’re a very thorough and generous lover, Ammiteo.  My one regret is that we waited so long to do this.”

Ammiteo grinned with pleasure and he lowered his mouth to Idrisar’s for a lingering kiss.

* * *

 

They made love twice more and bathed together, before finally seeking their rest.  Long after Ammiteo fell asleep in his bed, Idrisar awoke and sat by the window, staring at him.  He smiled softly as he admired the play of moonlight over the slumbering sire’s strong, handsome features.  His gaze drifted lower, to the powerful chest and the play of muscles.  One of Ammiteo’s legs was exposed and the sheets were lying low on his body, just barely covering his groin.  He made quite the sensual picture and Idrisar took a moment to revel in the fact that such a virile specimen of sire was now his.  A feeling of protective fondness grew in his breast as he watched his young lover sleep.  Sure, eighty-seven was a long time in human years, but to the Lashran, Ammiteo was still quite young.  Fortunately, he was mature for his age and he really acted like he was from an older generation, with his chivalry and good manners.

"No wonder I’m so drawn to you," sighed the lifebearer in a whisper.  Ammiteo was everything he appreciated in a sire, without the moral baggage he would have gotten with Zevian.  He was also humble—which was an endearing quality, to Idrisar.

Idrisar was about to get off of the window seat to climb back into bed with him, when the hair at the nape of his neck rose.  He felt a chill of premonition and he sensed eyes on him.  Never one to ignore his senses, he went for the nearest weapon available; the pearl-handled revolver he kept locked in his bedside table.  Like his youngest son, he had a combination lock on it to prevent the risk of little hands getting to the weapon, and he hardly had to think about it as he turned the number dials and unlocked the drawer.  He considered waking his companion up, but given the anxiety he’d been suffering lately, he wasn’t sure there was a reason to yet.

Idrisar checked the weapon to be sure it was properly loaded and then he grabbed his robe off the hook on the outside of his closet door.  He slipped it on and crept toward the bedroom door, silent as a cat.  He checked the hallway first and upon finding nothing out of the ordinary, he searched the entire second floor, room by room.  His ears were perked for any hint of noise and his lashran vision allowed him to see quite well in the dark, without the need for a light.  Finding no sign of an intruder upstairs, he proceeded to check downstairs and he snatched up his Mokalor from the kitchen counter when he scouted the room.  Feeling better now that he was armed with his weapon of choice as well as a gun, Idrisar finished searching through his home and when he was sure he and Ammiteo were alone in the house, he relaxed a little.

He thought of the anxiety medication given to him by the agency counselor he’d started seeing, and he considered taking some.  He didn’t like the sluggish way it made him feel, but if he couldn’t sleep without jumping at every shadow, maybe it was worth it.

Idrisar went back upstairs to his bedroom, still creeping silently to avoid waking his guest.  Ordinarily, he didn’t think he could have snuck past Ammiteo without rousing him, but the sire was tuckered out from all the lovemaking.  Idrisar glanced at the digital clock by Ammiteo’s side of the bed and he sighed at the time.  The sun would be coming up in a couple of hours, and it was a working day.  The temptation to take a sick day was strong, but he didn’t want to do that so soon after his return to duty.  He needed the department to know he could be counted on to hold it together, at least until they caught Sandman.

Idrisar went to the window again, looking out at the street below with a troubled sigh as he clicked the safety back on his revolver.  He could do this.  He could get through this case, with Ammiteo and the others by his side.  He wanted to tell them how much their support and loyalty meant to him, but he didn’t want to give the impression that he was too dependant on them.  He needed to stay strong and keep his head, if he was going to see this through and get the closure he needed.

He started to get up to put his gun away, remove his Mokalor and climb back into bed, but a figure under the street lamp outside caught his eye and he did a double-take.  It took him a moment of squinting to be sure, but he identified him easily despite his lack of corrective eyewear.

Tsyther was standing out there, watching his house.

Idrisar shut his eyes tightly, telling himself to stay calm.  He was tired and his thoughts were poisoned with the man’s presence.  His eyes could be playing tricks on him.  He opened them again, but the man remained where he was, standing under the street lamp and looking up at his house—directly at the bedroom window.  Tsyther’s yellow-green, serpentine gaze met Idrisar’s across the distance and the lifebearer felt all the heat leave his body.  Sandman took another step closer to the house, but he stopped just short of the fence as if sensing the magical and spiritual wards around it.  A slow grin spread over the maniac’s mouth and he spoke.  Idrisar couldn’t hear his voice, but he could read his lips, even blurred as they were to his vision.

"Hello, kitten."

An image came to Idrisar’s mind then, unbidden.  He saw himself naked and writhing beneath Tsyther, moaning as he rutted over him.  Idrisar certainly didn’t conjure the image himself and it was with great loathing that he realized his uninvited lawn guest had somehow projected it into his mind.

He didn’t even think about it.  Idrisar clicked off the safety, took aim with his pistol and began firing right through his window at the intruder.  Had he been wearing his glasses or contact lenses, his aim would have been too perfect for Tsyther to completely avoid or deflect.  As it was, Idrisar got some satisfaction out of seeing that at least one of his shots grazed Tsyther’s right arm, for after dodging most of the bullets and deflecting a couple with his sword, he cursed aloud and slapped a hand over the spot.  He looked up at the window—which was now riddled with bullet holes and spider web cracks—and he smirked before doing his vanishing trick and dissolving into thin air.

Idrisar didn’t even hear Ammiteo calling his name, until the big man caught hold of his wrists and urged him to lower the gun.  He was still firing at the spot where Tsyther had been standing, even though he’d spent all the bullets in the old gun’s chamber.  The dry click of the trigger died away and Idrisar came to his senses when he heard the urgency in his lover’s deep voice.

“ _Idrisar, stop!_ ”

The agent relaxed his hold on his gun and he turned his head to look up at his naked companion, who was gently prying the weapon from his hands.  Ammiteo’s deep purple gaze was worried on him as he set the gun aside and stroked his hair.

"What was it?" asked Ammiteo, though the expression on his face said he could guess.

Idrisar swallowed and nodded at his damaged window.  “Sandman.  He…he was out there, on the sidewalk.  He didn’t come close enough to set off the wards, but he was there.”

Ammiteo went to the window to look, stepping in front of Idrisar protectively.  He stepped on some broken glass and Idrisar winced when he saw the spot of blood left behind where the sire stepped down.  Ammiteo didn’t seem to notice or care.

"He’s gone now," assured the sire.  Far in the distance, they could hear the faint sound of sirens approaching, already.  Ammiteo raised pale brows and turned his head in the direction of the sound.  "That was fast.  Then again, those shots you fired probably woke up everyone on the block.  That revolver isn’t built for covert operations."

"It was a gift," Idrisar explained numbly, looking at the weapon in Ammiteo’s hands, "from Leison.  It’s an antique."

Ammiteo gave him a forced smile and approached him.  He cupped his face and studied him for a moment.  “Are you okay?”

Idrisar closed his eyes and nodded.  “Yes.  I’m sorry to worry you.  I just…seeing him standing there so smug, with that promise in his eyes to get me…I acted without thinking.”

"I don’t think anyone could blame you for that," soothed Ammiteo.  "Most people would shoot first and ask questions later.  We should probably get some clothes on and prepare to give a statement to the police, though.  I’m sure we can talk our way out of a trip to the station, given that we’re Alliance agents."

Idrisar nodded, his eyes going to the window again.

"Don’t worry about that," insisted Ammiteo.  "I’ll have someone come and fix it right away, as soon as business hours start."

Idrisar sighed and put his arms around the big man, laying his cheek on his chest as they embraced.  “Thank you.”

Ammiteo stroked his back and nuzzled his hair.  “I think maybe you should consider packing some things and staying with me at my place, for a while.”

Idrisar shook his head.  “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but I’m sure he knows where you live, too.  As a matter of fact, I think _you_ should pack some things, Ammiteo.  Your apartment isn’t warded, the way my home is.”

"We could do it that way," agreed the sire.  "There’s also the option of taking a page from Agent Wolfe and Glaive’s books, and staying at one of the witness protection suites in headquarters."

"I don’t want to do that," answered the lifebearer.

"Why not?"

Idrisar pulled away enough to look up at the taller man, and he hated himself for failing to think of this before.  “Because then we’ll all be grouped up in one place, all the time.  I don’t want to make it any easier for him to target us.  On that note, I think maybe it’s time for Wolfe and Glaive to seek other accommodations, too.  This…incident…just reminded me of how determined and ruthless this man is, and he has a mental blueprint of our facilities, thanks to me.  Damn!  Why didn’t I consider that right away?”

"Because you’ve been through hell and back again," excused Ammiteo sternly, "and you can’t be expected to fix everything.  You have _got_ to start giving yourself some slack.”

Idrisar wanted to argue with that, but it rang true.  He smirked ruefully at the sire and hugged him again.  “We’ll have to discuss this with the agency, first thing in the morning when we go in.”

"Of course," agreed Ammiteo.  "For now, let’s get dressed and go downstairs.  Just show me where everything is and I’ll brew us some coffee."

* * *

 

-To be continued 


	27. Chapter 27

* * *

"Gods damn it all."

Aurora looked up from her game of Solitaire at her companion.  Vurkanan put his phone down and walked over to the table, the hard soles of his boots clicking on the polished wooden floor as he strode over it. 

"What’s the problem, Vurky?"

The sorcerer stopped before the table and glared down at the map spread over it with vexed gray eyes.  “My divination skills suck even worse than I thought,” he proclaimed, putting his hands on his satin-clad hips.

"You’re really picking up on the modern language," she said dryly. 

She left her cards strewn over the bed and she climbed off of it to go and see what he was ranting about.  She looked down at the map—which had been drawn through a computer program and printed out by a machine, rather than drawn by human or lashran hands.  Hovering over a spot on the map was a little puff of white light; like a firefly.  It remained stationary, floating over the island of Rhuidhim, near the capital by the same name. 

"What’s the problem?" she asked, indicating the little wisp of light.  "The little fellow seems like he’s got a heading, to me."

"Well, the ‘little fellow’ is wrong," sighed Vurkanan.  He placed his palms flat on the surface of the map and leaned over, peering down at it with annoyance.  "I just got off the line with Agent Ammiteo.  Unless Sandman has mastered the art of splitting himself into two parts and being in two places at once, my location spell has failed— _again_.”

Vurkanan dragged his fingers through his lustrous, thick mane of hair and shook his head, his pale brows furrowed over his troubled eyes.  “I was so _sure_ this time, but it seems Agent Blackbird got a visit from our culprit in the wee hours of the morning, over there.  This bloody puffball insists that he’s in Rhuidhim, and he’s not.”  Vurkanan addressed the wisp as if it had a mind to care what he thought.  “Do you _hear_ that, you worthless little—”

"Vurk," interrupted Aurora, "Don’t work yourself into another tangent.  Your forte has always been fire and brimstone, and we both know it.  The important thing is they know he’s still in Valkyrie Falls.  If he’s reckless enough to show up at an Ulvari’s house just to give him the willies, it means he’s slipping again."

"I’m not so sure that kind of recklessness is a good thing for us," sighed Vurkanan, banishing his unhelpful wisp of light with an elegant wave of his hand.  "That sort of egotistical confidence just makes him more dangerous.  One has to wonder what inspires his cocksure attitude, after his prize escaped and his compound was obliterated."

Aurora frowned, looking down at the map…specifically at the words “Valkyrie Falls” in bold on the southeastern coast of Avras.  “You think he has another card to play, then?  Or could it be that he’s just so blasted arrogant, he can’t see the odds stacked against him?”

"That’s just it," murmured Vurkanan somberly.  "I’m not so sure the odds are as stacked against him as we would like to believe.  He _did_ get into Agent Blackbird’s head, while he had him in captivity.  He knows the layout of the Alliance headquarters, now.  With everything he’s accomplished thus far, it stands to reason that it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that he could infiltrate that facility and assassinate Agent Wolfe, before anyone could stop him.  That seems to be what he wants most, after all.”

She tossed her hands up.  “I wish you’d make up your mind.  Yesterday you were breezy and certain the Alliance could handle this bastard.  Now you’re telling scare tales.”

"I’m just being realistic," Vurkanan protested.  He gave her a little smile and circled around the table to her, hugging her close and kissing her on the cheek.  "This is important to me, and even _I_ have to take things seriously, sometimes.”

Aurora hugged him back and kneaded his tense shoulders.  “What you need is a good shag.  It’ll clear your head.”

He chuckled and shook his head.  “Stop trying to get me bedded, woman.  Sex isn’t the answer to everything.”

"I didn’t say it was," she replied with a shrug and a wink.  "But it helps ease the tension, and you’ve been wound up too tight for months.  You’re still alive, Vurk, and you’ve still got lashran needs.  Take care of them.  You’ll feel better for it."

He heaved a sigh.  “I’ll consider it, the next time we’re in a place with easy access to some sire entertainment.  Happy?”

"I will be, when I see a ‘do not disturb’ sign hanging on the knob of our next hotel room," she quipped.  She playfully smacked his bottom and turned away to retrieve her forgotten cards from the bed. 

"What do you think Lyre would say, if he knew his sister was trying so hard to get his mate in bed with another sire?"

Aurora paused and looked over her shoulder at the sorcerer.  “He would say I’m doing the right thing, because he wouldn’t want you miserable and alone for the rest of your days.”

"But I’m not alone," he reminded her with a smile.  "I have my dear sister-in-law."

"I’m a poor substitute for the cock your body craves," she countered bluntly.  "Face it, Vurkanan; even temporary romantic company would do you more good than your hand and a tube of gel."

He grimaced.  “Gods, you’re crass.”

 ”Yes, I am,” she agreed without apology, “and I prefer to be thought of as tactless and crude than a liar.”

Vurkanan nodded, giving her a fond smile.  “Of course.  I’ll take your tactless honesty over false promises whispered through fake smiles, any day.  Maybe we should think about getting back to Valkyrie Falls.”

"You’ll get no argument from me on that front," she agreed.    

* * *

 

An investigative team was immediately dispatched to Agent Blackbird’s house, when they contacted Headquarters with the news of Tsyther’s appearance.  Amongst the agents assigned to scour the area was Glaive, due to his spirit singing abilities and his history with the suspect.  Haden was again left out, seeing as he was still under protective custody.  Agent Rose of the Bargel and Agent Sanders of the Order accompanied Glaive to the scene, along with a small team of home agents and some allies from the Cothmere branch. 

While the investigation into the Valkyrie Falls branch was complete, the head agency left some people behind to keep an eye on things.  Amongst those agents was the Ulvari officer assigned to take over Ammiteo’s duties while he was on probation.  The officer spoke with the bigger sire in the den, while Idrisar spoke with Glaive and the others outside, on the front porch.  The officer jotted it all down on his data pad as Ammiteo described what happened.

"Did you see the suspect at all, Director?"  The smaller sire regarded Ammiteo with respect, keeping his tone polite despite their circumstances. 

"I didn’t get a visual," answered Ammiteo.  "The suspect fled before I made it to the window."

"I see."  The officer tapped the information in, before glancing out the window by the front door at the attractive lifebearer standing outside with the others.  "And Agent Blackbird alleged that he shot the intruder?"

"Grazed him," corrected Ammiteo.  "Sandman has Ulvari training in addition to his spirit singing abilities, if you recall, and Agent Blackbird was shooting with impaired vision.  He was able to divert or avoid most of the rounds fired at him."

"Right."  The Cothmere officer nodded and tapped it in.  He sighed and replaced the data pad in his right vest pocket.  A strand of flaxen hair had come free of his short ponytail and he tucked it behind a pointed ear, before regarding Ammiteo with troubled hazel eyes.  "The problem with that is the lack of blood traces.  Now, maybe they’ve discovered something they overlooked when we first arrived, but even a minor graze should have shed a little blood."

Ammiteo shrugged.  “It depends on whether the suspect had body armor equipped or not.  My experience with Sandman says he probably did.  Blackbird couldn’t see clearly enough to tell how badly he injured him; he only saw him stagger.  Maybe it didn’t break the skin.”

"Maybe," agreed the officer with a shrug of his own.  "Let’s step outside and see how they’re doing out there, shall we?"

* * *

 

 Glaive knelt in the street, peering down at the glittering fragments of glass like they were pieces of a puzzle.  They had sealed off one side of the street from traffic, so that the agents could finish their investigation uninterrupted.  A couple of staff members directed incoming vehicles to drive around, while the lishere and his Bargel and Knight associates searched for clues.

"Are you picking anything up, Glaive?" Rose asked after her soft chanting stopped.  She straightened back up and looked around with a frown, tucking a strand of blond hair back that had blown free of the bun she had it twisted into. 

"Nothing," sighed the Ulvari, shaking his head.  "Not a damned thing."

"The only physical evidence I’ve found is the glass from Agent Blackbird’s window," Malcolm added in a low voice.  The beads in his long, woven hair clinked together as he too straightened back up.  The Ocathian knight crossed his arms over his broad chest and looked at each of his companions in turn.  "So, what the hell comes next?  Blackbird swears he saw the man, but none of the witnesses can confirm anyone on site when the weapon was fired."

Glaive shook his head again, his gaze sliding to Idrisar and Ammiteo, up on the front porch.  They were speaking softly with one of the Cothmere officers and a Valkyrie Falls operative.  “Blackbird isn’t given to hysterics, and he’s been cleared to return to work.  If he says he saw Sandman outside his home, I believe him.”

"But there’s no evidence," whispered Rose.  "None at all!  Not physical, not spiritual and not psychic.  We can usually at least sense when someone’s tampered with the ether, Agent Glaive.  It remains undisturbed, here."

Glaive sighed, compressing his lips.  He couldn’t deny the truth of her statement, but neither could he believe the best agent on Avras decided to fire a weapon in a civilian area because he had a nightmare.  The wards were undisturbed, but if Tsyther stood where Blackbird alleged, he would have been just out of range of them. 

"We all know how good Sandman is at adapting his techniques and covering up his own trail," insisted Glaive stubbornly.  "Until we have some evidence that Agent Blackbird is unstable, I’m going to presume our suspect has just perfected his stealth even further."

Malcolm looked down at the shards of glass littering the area again.  “Maybe we should just change the dude’s nickname to ‘phantom’.”

* * *

 

When the investigation was concluded, everyone except for Glaive left.  The lishere hung around afterwards at Idrisar and Ammiteo’s request, and the three of them sat down in the den to eat some breakfast and have coffee.  Idrisar selected a cinnamon bun from the box of goodies Agent Rose was kind enough to retrieve from the local bakery, and he studied it for a moment before regarding Glaive.

"They don’t believe Tsyther was really here."

Glaive paused with his hand partway to a bagel, and he looked at the lifebearer with subtle concern.  “Do _you_ believe that?”

Idrisar glanced over his shoulder toward the hallway.  Ammiteo could be heard moving around in the kitchen.  He spoke in a low voice, as if he didn’t like the thought of their director hearing what he was about to say.  “I believe I saw him standing in front of my house.  I believe one of my shots grazed him, and I believe he’ll be back.  Whether my senses can be trusted or not is a question I’ve begun to ask myself, however.”

Glaive shook his head.  “Blackbird, you’re—”

"—A person that has his limits, like anyone else," finished Idrisar for him with a humorless smirk, "no matter how much I’d like to pretend otherwise.  But let’s put aside _my_ issues for a moment and consider the facts.”

Glaive finished taking the bagel and he started cutting it in half, keeping it hovering over the box so as not to get crumbs on the floor or the coffee table.  “All right.  Which facts would you like to discuss?”

"He was in my head," stated Idrisar.  "There’s no need to be oblique about it, Agent.  Sandman knows the layout of our facilities, now…and he knows where you and your partner are staying.  It’s no longer safe.  If you want to protect Agent Wolfe, you need to move him to another location.  The directors and I are going to discuss it with our Cothmere associates when we go into work today, and we’ll make sure the organization makes the necessary travel arrangements for you."

Glaive nodded, having no argument for that.  “I had some concerns over that myself, but I’ve been trying to decide how to address them without insulting you.”

Idrisar tilted his head and gave a little smile.  “Insulting me?”

"By insinuating in any way that you put my partner at risk," explained the lishere distastefully.  "I…need you to know that we trust you implicitly."

"I know that," assured Idrisar.  "Funny, you’ve never given me the impression that you care whether you insult people or not."

"Only the ones I respect," answered Glaive with a smirk of his own.  "And they are few and far between, I assure you.  The rest can sod off and cry into their pillows, for all I care."

Idrisar chuckled softly.  “Of course.”

Glaive sobered and regarded the lifebearer thoughtfully.  “What about your family?”

Idrisar’s expression darkened again.  “I’ve insisted that the agency not tell me where they are, and I’ve arranged to have them moved to a different location every week, to lessen the chances of Tsyther or any of his people tracking them down.”

"Smart move," approved Glaive.  He noticed the resolved expression on Idrisar’s face and he frowned.  "Agent Blackbird?"

Idrisar took a slow breath and let it out.  “Ammiteo,” he called out, addressing the director casually now that Glaive was their only company, “Are you almost finished in there?  I think you need to hear this, too.”

Glaive didn’t like where this was going at all, and by the sound of Ammiteo’s voice, he found the announcement foreboding too.  “I’ve just finished pouring the coffee.  I’m coming back now.”

* * *

 

Ammiteo returned to the den and he set down the beverage tray next to the pastry box on the table.  He took a seat beside his lover, resisting the impulse to put an arm around him.  He noticed that the lifebearer still hadn’t taken a single bite of the cinnamon bun in his hand and he frowned at him.  Glaive bore a covert look of concern on his sculpted features as well.

It was difficult to keep his tone professional as Ammiteo addressed Idrisar.  “What is it you want to say to us, Agent?”

Idrisar examined the bun in his hand, turning it absently this way and that.  “I think I’m going to take that extended vacation they offered to me, after all.”

Ammiteo’s heart went out to him when he saw the lifebearer’s expression slip just for a moment, to reveal the weariness he was hiding from everyone.  He nodded and after giving Glaive a measuring glance, he decided he could drop the act.  He put a supportive arm around Idrisar’s shoulders and he spoke to him in a soft, encouraging voice.

"You’ve definitely earned it, Idrisar.  I’m sure we won’t have trouble arranging that, for you."  He stroked the soft, dark hair as Idrisar relaxed against him and laid his head on his shoulder.

If Glaive was at all surprised by the way they were interacting, he didn’t show it.  “Nobody’s going to argue your right to take some time off.  In fact, people have been wondering why you came back so soon after they declared you fit to resume duty.”

"That brings me to my next point," sighed Idrisar.  He lifted his head off Ammiteo’s shoulder and looked at him sidelong.  "This morning’s event has raised some questions for me, and I need to sort them out.  I know where I want to spend my vacation, Ammiteo.  I’d like to travel to Zarn."

Ammiteo thought it was a rather strange choice, and he wondered if this “vacation” was actually a cover for Idrisar to seek out more information on Tsyther’s background.  He didn’t want to draw conclusions, though.  “Can I ask _why_ you want to go to Zarn?”

Idrisar’s answer wasn’t at all what he expected.  “I want to go to the Chalice, and stay with the Spirit Keepers.”

Glaive stared at the lifebearer with a glimmer of dread in his eyes.  “Tell me you want to go there to tour the grounds, Agent Blackbird.”

Idrisar gave him a brief little smirk and shook his head.  “No. I think you know why I’m going, Agent Glaive.”

Ammiteo had a nagging suspicion too, but he hoped he was wrong.  “You want to talk to Sandman’s associate there?  Matthias?”

Idrisar looked at the sire full-on and his light topaz eyes softened behind the lenses of his rectangular little glasses.  “If I thought it would do any good, I might consider that.  No, I don’t want to go to the temple for any investigative or tourist reasons, Ammiteo.”

Glaive sighed and bowed his head, rubbing his closed eyelids with his fingertips.  “You’re going there for detox, aren’t you?”

 Ammiteo frowned, not immediately following.  “Detox?  Idrisar, I’m sure you don’t have a drinking problem and if you think you do, there are plenty of local places you can go for help.  I don’t see how the spirit singers in Zarn can…” He trailed off, catching on as both of the other men looked at him.  “Oh.  You aren’t talking about purging chemical impurities, are you?”

"No."  Idrisar put his pastry down and he took one of Ammiteo’s hands in his.  "This isn’t a substance abuse problem.  It’s a psychological problem, and I think it’s deeper than I was willing to admit.  While I appreciate Agent Glaive’s support and confidence in me, I have to accept the possibility that what I saw this morning really _was_ all in my head.”

"But, Saber cleared you out," reminded Ammiteo.  He was getting upset, and he found it difficult to maintain professional stoicism.  "He destroyed Tsyther’s barriers."

"He might not have gotten all of them," insisted Idrisar, lowering his gaze.  "As Glaive said; Zevian is good with shields and he does have a better understanding of how his sire uses his abilities than others, but he’s still an amateur.  Ammiteo, I’ve been thinking about it since I escaped Sandman, and for the first time in my career, I doubt myself.  That in itself can be a very dangerous thing in this line of work.  One of the core elements to being a good agent is trusting one’s instincts, and I can’t trust mine anymore."

"But—"

Idrisar pressed two fingers against Ammiteo’s lips, silencing him with a shake of his head.  “No.  There are no ‘buts’, when it comes to my integrity.  Whether Sandman was really here or not, I’m questioning myself and that makes me a liability to this case and our department.  The spirit singers of the Chalice are the best Wyndrah has to offer.  I’ll submit myself to their care and deal with this, so that I _can_ trust myself again.”

Ammiteo stared at him helplessly, trying to think of something to say. 

Glaive took that as his queue to give the two of them some privacy.  “I’ll just step outside to finish this,” he said with a gesture at the steaming cup of coffee he held. 

Idrisar looked up at him and forced a smile.  “Thank you, Agent Glaive.”

The lishere nodded and got out of his seat in the wingback chair.  His boots hardly made a whisper of sound as he strode across the polished wood floor to the foyer entrance, and when he stepped outside and shut the door behind him, Ammiteo found his tongue and looked into Idrisar’s eyes.

"How long?"

Idrisar shrugged.  “Until they can give me confirmation that I’m alone in my head again.  I’ll explain the situation to the head department and I’ll ask that they put me on probation, until then.  I want to see this bastard put away more than I can express, but I’ve seen what happens when people let their thirst for justice or vengeance cloud their vision.  Sandman’s charisma alone isn’t what gains him so much loyalty from his followers.  Even Agent Glaive admitted that it was difficult to defy him, at first.  Tsyther does something to all of his people, and I have no doubt he’s only gotten better at compulsion since Glaive was his pupil.”

Ammiteo’s brows furrowed and he caressed Idrisar’s face, marveling at how smooth and soft the skin was over the sculpted features.  “You think all of his followers are thralls, then?”

"It’s difficult to explain," sighed Idrisar.  "I’m sure most of them went with him willingly.  Tsyther convinces them with words, first.  You know his preferred recruitment targets; the rejected, the outcasts, the downtrodden.  He chooses those with low self-esteem or those who aren’t satisfied with their lot in life.  He seduces them with his confidence, his skills and his charm, and he helps them reach their full physical potential.  They’re grateful for the acceptance he offers, as well as the power.  With them, all he needs to do is give a little nudge with his powers now and then, subtly implanting suggestions that enhance their already strong devotion to him.  You see?  He’s more deadly than other cult leaders because of his spirit singing abilities.  He attracts fanatics and he makes sure they stay loyal to him, once he’s gained their trust."

Idrisar lowered his gaze and shrugged.  “At least, that’s my theory.”

Ammiteo nodded.  “It sounds like a good theory to me, after all we’ve witnessed.  I just…wish…” He sighed and shook his head as he trailed off.  Words were useless, and complaining that Idrisar had to go away just when they finally got together would just be childish and selfish of him.

The lifebearer smiled gently at him, seeming to read his thoughts in his tone.  He combed his fingers through Ammiteo’s ashen-gold hair and scooted a little closer to him.  His eyes began to glisten suspiciously and he pressed his lips together briefly, swallowing his emotions before speaking. 

"I wish I could stay," he murmured, echoing Ammiteo’s silent thoughts.  "I wish I could just put what happened behind me and move on.  I can’t, though.  I have a prescription for anxiety medication and I’m jumping at shadows and sounds, all the time.  Even with you here, I don’t feel safe anymore.  I don’t think I ever will again, until I know this is all just posttraumatic stress, and not Tsyther’s influence lingering inside my head.  I can’t rest until I know he has no power over me."

Ammiteo felt like crying too when those beautiful eyes began to fill with tears.  He brushed a thumb beneath the frame of Idrisar’s glasses to wipe away a drop of moisture that escaped from his right eye, and then he closed the distance between their mouths and kissed him tenderly.

"I understand," he murmured against the soft, parted lips.  "And I want you to feel safe again, whatever it takes."

Idrisar put his arms around his neck and pressed his forehead against the sire’s, shutting his eyes.  “Thank you for being supportive, Ammiteo.  It helps me stay strong.”    

Ammiteo heaved an unsteady sigh and he stroked the smaller man’s back with one hand, shutting his eyes as well.  “We’ll get him.  Tsyther _will_ face justice, for the things he’s done.”

"I know."  Idrisar opened his eyes again.  "But if he should happen to face it before I return, will you do something for me?"

"Anything," promised Ammiteo, opening his eyes as well. 

Idrisar’s face was so close that his eyes appeared to meld together into one large one.  “Give him a good, hard sock in the jaw and tell him it’s from Blackbird.”

Ammiteo issued a chuckle.  He put his arms around the lifebearer and held him close, resting his chin on the crown of his head.  “It’s a promise, love.”

* * *

 

_Later that morning, just before noon:_

Azurel winced as the half-empty bottle of whisky hit the wall and shattered.  He eyed his lover warily as Zevian snarled and combed his fingers through his disheveled, unbound hair.  One of the little braids mixed in with the loose, long strands caught on one of his rings and the guild lord cursed, tugging with agitation to try and free it.  The sight lent an unexpected comedic value to Zevian’s temper tantrum and before he could help it, Azurel snickered.

"You think this is funny?" challenged Zevian with a turquoise glare at the dancer, his middle finger still caught in his own hair.

There was only one smart answer to that question, and Azurel sobered quickly and cleared his throat.  “No.  I had a tickle in my throat.  Here, let me help you.  Just don’t throw me against the wall like that liquor bottle.”

Zevian sighed and held still as the lavender-haired young man approached him cautiously, as if he were a tiger with a splinter stuck in its paw.  Azurel gazed up at him solemnly as he carefully untangled the little braid from the onyx ring on his finger.  He somehow kept his amusement boxed safely away, understanding that something was terribly wrong, for Zevian to go off on a tangent like this.  Azurel hadn’t seen him snap since his spirit singing talents awoke and drove him half-mad. 

"There," he said in satisfaction, once the braid was freed.  He took both of Zevian’s tense hands in his and searched his face.  Azurel had learned not to try and stick his nose into Zevian’s business, but he knew how to dance around the subject and get him to open up, too.  "Now, tell me what else I can do to help."

Zevian seemed chagrined by his gracious offer, and some of his tension faded.  “That was the Ulvari director I just spoke with.  It seems my efforts weren’t enough.  Blackbird is still infected with whatever shit my sire put into him and he’s going away for a while to have it dealt with.”

Azurel frowned in confusion.  “I don’t understand,” he admitted.  “Was there a trigger left behind, like in a movie?”

Zevian shook his head.  “I don’t know.  All Ammiteo would say was that he thinks he needs the pros in the temple to sweep out all the dark corners.  All I know is it has to be pretty bad, for Blackbird to set himself up to be scanned by a bunch of strangers.” 

The sire’s tension rose again and he snarled, pulling away from his lover, turning his back to him.  “It was all for _nothing_!”  His fists clenched at his sides and his voice took on a dangerous, growling edge.

Azurel bit his lip.  It really hurt to see him like this, for many reasons.  Of course, he wasn’t happy seeing Zevian upset at all, but knowing _why_ he was so upset only made it more painful. 

"You’re in love with him."

 Zevian went still for a few seconds, before turning around to look at him again.  “What?”

"Agent Blackbird," elaborated the lifebearer with resignation.  He knew this wasn’t the best time to confront the man about it, but he was tired of beating around the bush.  "You’re in love with him.  That’s why this is driving you so crazy.  It’s okay, Zevian.  I just want to hear you admit it."

Zevian frowned severely at him, his gaze flicking to the tea-colored drops of liquor dripping down the wall from where he’d smashed the bottle.  “Where the hell is this _coming_ from, Azurel?”

Azurel swallowed a lump and blinked back the tears that threatened.  “From watching you flip over him so many times.  I knew you had a thing for him when we got together, and I never blamed you for it.  I just want you to say it out loud to me, so we can move on.”

The demand efficiently distracted Zevian from his angst.  He looked understandably uncomfortable.  “I’ve already told you I care about the man, gorgeous.  I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

"I want you to admit you’re in love with him," insisted Azurel, stepping closer to the taller lashran.  "Say it out loud.  Look me in the eye and say it.  If you care about me even a little, you’ll come clean about that instead of trying to hide it all the time."

Zevian was staring at him like he’d just put his underwear on his head and proclaimed himself the king of laundry.  “I don’t get your crazy moon logic.”

"Just admit it!" Azurel snapped, raising his voice.  "You love him!  _Say it_!”

He then did something that he never would have expected himself to do in a million years; he shoved Zevian, hard enough to make him stagger to catch his balance.  Now _he_ was the one gasping for breath, and he stared at the sire with desperate, aching eyes.  He took a deep, shuddering breath and made a confession of his own.

"I heard you."

Zevian looked—if possible—even more perplexed.  “What the fuck are you _on_ , kid?  I don’t know what you’re talking about!  You’re acting like some crazy diva in a soap opera.”

"You told Agent Blackbird that you love him, the day you helped him," explained Azurel, his tone defeated.  "I came to bring him some flowers and I walked in just in time to hear you say it.  I left without saying anything, before you knew I was there."

Zevian’s hard expression softened and he sighed.  “Azurel, that was…when I said that, I was drained, and Blackbird had suffered through a _lot_ you don’t know about.  I was talking from a purely emotional place.  I’d just lived through everything he’d suffered at my old man’s hands and I was…I guess I…”

Azurel’s heart went out to both of them, in spite of his anger.  He knew Zevian had discovered some things about Idrisar’s experience that troubled him, but he knew better than to ask for details.  He closed the remaining distance and held Zevian’s eyes.  He reached up and cupped his face, determined to get this out of the way and make the man acknowledge the truth.  Maybe it wasn’t fair of him to push like this, considering that Zevian waited until Idrisar was unconscious to admit his feelings aloud.  Azurel was tired of always looking the other way, though. 

"You love him.  Just say it, okay?"

Zevian moistened his lips with his tongue and he looked like he would refuse, but then he sighed and nodded.  “Fine.  I love him.  Satisfied?”

Azurel nodded, though his heart felt like it was shattering like the bottle Zevian had thrown earlier.  He released Zevian’s face and turned away from him, fighting to quell his emotions.  “See?  That wasn’t so hard.”

"Yes, it was," countered Zevian, "and now you’re upset."

"I’ll be fine," lied Azurel.  "I just needed it out in the open, for closure.  I know you don’t love me." 

Zevian came up behind him and put his hands on his shoulders.  “That’s not true, Azurel.”

The lifebearer sniffed and wiped hastily at his eyes.  “You don’t have to pay me lip service.  I knew what this was about when we started sleeping together.  I’ve been hoping it would change, hoping to earn a place in your heart, but I understand if there’s no room in there for me.”

Zevian made him turn around to face him.  His handsome face bore a troubled, sincere expression as he gazed into Azurel’s teary eyes.  “I’m not paying you lip service.  I thought I’d already made it pretty damned clear that I care for you.  Have I ever been unfaithful, or neglectful?”

Azurel swallowed again and shook his head.  “No.  You’ve been everything I thought I’d never have, and I’m grateful for that.  You don’t love me, though.”

Zevian’s gaze didn’t waver.  “You really think that’s true?”

Azurel faltered uncertainly.  The warmth and tenderness in those piercing eyes seemed quite real, but he knew Zevian could put on a very convincing show of sincerity, when he needed to.  There was one thing he consistently had trouble with, and that was telling the people he loved how he felt.

"Then tell me," suggested Azurel.  "If you really _do_ love me and want to prove it, say it to my face.  Look me in the eye and tell me you’re in love with me.  Otherwise, admit you’re just trying to get me to shut up and leave you alone.”

Zevian began to get flustered, again.  “You…that’s…why do you need me to say it?  I thought actions spoke louder than words.”

"Not when it comes to you."  Azurel gave him a wistful little smile and he spoke softly, hopefully.  "I need you to say it, if you mean it.  Say it like you did to _him_ that day, only I’ll be conscious to hear it.”

The prospect of telling a lifebearer he loved him to his face seemed more daunting to Zevian Saber than the thought of facing down a gang of rival mobsters.  He frowned at Azurel and the dancer could practically hear the gears grinding in his head as he searched for a way out of the challenge.  Finally, Zevian threw his hands up.

"I…this is…this is why I should have stayed single!"

Azurel sighed.  “If you can’t say it—”

"Not so fast," interrupted Zevian before the smaller man could turn away.  He sighed and put his arms around Azurel’s waist, pulling him close.  He looked up at the ceiling as if asking someone up above to give him strength, and then he looked into the lifebearer’s eyes.

"I love you."

He said it _exactly_ the same way he’d spoken those words to Idrisar, while the agent was passed out and oblivious.  Azurel stood stunned for a moment, hardly believing it.  He began to relax in the taller lashran’s embrace and he put his arms around his waist.  He really couldn’t ask for more confirmation than this, after all this time.  He didn’t even mind knowing the man also loved Idrisar Blackbird, now that he knew for certain he had a place in his heart as well.  It also helped that he was the one Zevian shared a bed with at night, of course.

"I feel much better, now," sighed Azurel as he laid his head against Zevian’s chest.

Zevian stroked his hair.  “Glad I could help.”

Azurel smiled, used to the dry sarcasm that usually came after defeat, with Zevian.  “Try not to worry about Agent Blackbird, okay?  You did your best and he’s not a pushover.  He’ll get the help he needs and he’ll return stronger than ever.”  

Some of Zevian’s tension returned.  “Maybe, but I’d rather he not have to go through this shit at all.  I can’t express what this guy did for me, back when I was a new widower.  I was a complete mess, with a little kid I didn’t know how to take care of and a blood feud on my hands. Idrisar tossed me a lifeline while everyone else just left me to drown.  The kid was a virtual stranger to me, with no reason at all to do more than his job required.  He showed me compassion when I needed it the most, and he helped me pull myself together.  I guess I thought that _this_ time, I finally paid him back for that.  I thought I threw _him_ the lifeline when he needed it the most, but all I did was keep him afloat for a little longer.”

Hearing the extended explanation gave Azurel a deeper understanding of the connection his lover had with the attractive agent, and his sympathy deepened.  He pulled back to look Zevian in the eye, wanting to ease his pain.

"What matters is you helped him function again.  I saw how bad he was when they first brought him in, and just because you couldn’t clear out _everything_ doesn’t mean you didn’t save him.  Agent Blackbird didn’t stick around to change all of Orindel’s poopy diapers for you, but he showed you how to deal with them, right?”

Zevian snorted.  “Yeah, I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”

Azurel smiled.  “So you can’t fix it all for him.  You still gave him that lifeline he needed.  You gave me a lifeline too, Zev.  You’re a better man than you give yourself credit for.” 

"Maybe," sighed the sire dubiously.  "It doesn’t matter.  He’s still going to have to let a bunch of fucking strangers see shit he didn’t want anyone to see."

Azurel felt a chill down his spine, and he forgot his vow not to ask for details.  “What sort of things?  What did Tsyther do to him, Zev?”

"I can’t tell you," answered the sire.  He kissed the crown of Azurel’s head and stroked his back.  "I made a promise to keep it to myself and let _him_ decide who he tells, baby.  Otherwise I’d share…just because it eats me up to think about it and it might feel good to rant a little.”

His response gave Azurel a pretty good guess, and he recalled the way Zevian had acted the day Idrisar was captured and he found out Tsyther had approached Azurel.  He didn’t even like the thought of that man _speaking_ to Azurel, let alone touching him.  The dancer’s sympathy for his lover switched to Agent Blackbird, and he hoped Idrisar really _would_ be okay.

"Hey," Zevian murmured after a few moments, "aren’t you going to say you love me too?" 

Azurel smiled.  “I love spending time with you.”

The guild lord snorted and gave him a light swat on the ass.  “Cheeky little brat.”

* * *

 

_Late that evening, Rhuidhim, uptown suburbia:_

Somehow, Orindel managed to bamboozle everyone into having a slumber party and playing “Truth or Dare”.  It started when he noticed how anxious Evindar was over letting his parents take little Tory for the weekend.  It was the first time he’d parted with his son since birth and his trust issues with Yeriden and Vinex weren’t helping.  To distract him, Orindel decided they should all do something silly together—thus the drunken slumber party occurred.  Alistair was easy to convince, but Ronin took a little more effort.  He reminded them that he wasn’t a teenaged girl and neither were they.  Orindel reminded _him_ that Evindar was suffering from separation anxiety, and maybe teenaged girls knew how to have fun. 

For the sake of distracting his mate, the doctor finally agreed to get in on it and by the time ten o’clock came around, the four of them were sitting on the floor of the main lounge, laughing together after Ronin made Alistair do a ballerina twirl—that put him on his face.  They had blankets piled around the floor and a single lamp lit the room dimly.  After he recovered from his spill, it was the architect’s turn to pick someone and he chose Orindel.  The lifebearer picked “truth”.

"Okay, I’ve got one," Alistair announced when the laughter settled down.  He cleared his throat and looked at his mate, eyeing him up and down in a speculative manner.  "Who was your first kiss?"

Orindel immediately looked at Evindar, and the singer had a faintly smug expression on his face.  Both sires raised their eyebrows and Ronin looked at Alistair with surprise. 

"You didn’t know that by now?"

"Not everyone checks everything from dating background to the state of their teeth, when they choose a mate," Evindar admonished dryly.  He smirked at Orindel, who winked at him.

"I didn’t check your teeth," objected Ronin.  Alistair passed the bottle of rum to him and he took a swig and grimaced before passing it on to Evindar.

"It’s not something I thought to ask about," confessed Alistair, "but now I’m intrigued.  So, you two started kissing before you even hit the stage, then?  Who initiated it?"  His blue eyes were openly curious and intrigued. 

Both lifebearers pointed at each other as Evindar took a swig from the bottle.

"Oh, come on," Ronin snorted.  " _Someone_ had to initiate it, so who was it?”

"Trying to figure out which one of us would top if we fucked, doc?" Orindel scooted closer to Evindar and deliberately stroked his thigh through the royal blue, silk pajama pants he wore. 

Ronin flushed a little as his mate gave him a knowing, playful look.  “No…I just…people don’t just walk up to each other and mutually decide to kiss, out of the blue.  So who started it?”

"We do that all the time," Evindar reminded with a raised brow.  "In fact, we walked up to each other and mutually kissed in the kitchen, earlier."

"But we’ve been together for over ten years now," Ronin pointed out.  "We didn’t just spontaneously decide to go for it at the same time and suck face, the first time we kissed."

"I think a demonstration is in order," suggested Alistair with a wink at his mate.  "Ronin’s obviously having trouble visualizing it, and I think I need a little help, too."

"Too bad," Evindar said before Orindel could speak up.  "You asked your question and he answered it.  You’ll have to wait until he picks ‘dare’ to make that request."

Orin almost pouted at the singer, but he immediately brightened when he realized it was his turn to ask someone.  He could have chosen his mate, but he didn’t want to hog the game to just the two of them and he suspected Ronin would cooperate.

"Okay, my turn.  R-man, I dare you to dare me to do something."

"Hey," protested Evindar, half-choking on the rum.  He coughed and wiped his mouth.  "That’s cheating."

"No, I believe it’s perfectly within the rules," insisted Ronin with a conspiring grin at Orindel.  "Orindel, I dare you to—"

Alistair suddenly leaned toward Ronin and whispered into his ear.  The doctor’s brass-colored brows went up and he smiled at the other sire.  “Good idea.  Now, Orin, I dare you to act out your first kiss with Evindar.”

"What if _I_ don’t want to do that?” challenged Evindar.  He looked at the bassist, saw the way he waggled his eyebrows and laughed.  “Never mind.  Okay Orin, let’s do this.”

Orindel nodded enthusiastically and crossed his ankles, leaving his knees akimbo.  He started playing “air bass” in his lap.  “Right, so I’m practicing my tunes and you’ve just come into my room for a visit.”

Evindar nodded.  “I was on break from the university, as I recall.  Ahem…hey Orin, your playing has improved a lot while I was away.”

"Thanks, man," replied the blond, still pretending to play his bass.  "It occupies my time, at least.  I should be dating by now, but all the sires in town are afraid Pops is gonna cut their wangs off if they get too close to me."

Both sires had to muffle their laughter at that.  “He probably _would_ have, too,” remarked Alistair in a hushed voice to Ronin, between chuckles.

"That’s too bad," Evindar sighed.  "So you haven’t had _any_ dating opportunities, yet?”

Orin shook his head.  “Nope.  Not one.”  He paused and looked up from his pretend instrument, regarding Evindar with convincing frustration in his violet eyes.  “I’ll be graduating this year, dude!  I’ll be turning eighteen and I’ve never even been kissed!”  It was easy to relive that frustration.  He’d had plenty of admirers but he never got the chance to fool around until he was out of his sire’s house and a legal adult.

"Are you serious?" Evindar looked properly shocked.  "You’ve never even been _kissed_?  I don’t believe it.  Look at you.  Anyone would jump at the chance to kiss you.”

"Oh, plenty of them _want_ to,” corrected Orindel, “but they’re all too _afraid_ to.  I tried to sneak a kiss with this one sire I know in the bathroom, because I knew he was into me and I heard him telling his friend how hot he thought I was.  He stopped me and he was like: ‘ _No thanks, you’re gorgeous, but I’d rather keep my balls’_.  Meh…as if he _has_ any to keep in the first place.  If he did, he would have kissed me anyway.”

Evindar scooted a little closer to him and rubbed his right shoulder.  “Maybe you could talk to your sire and tell him to stop scaring everyone away.”

Orindel snorted and his frustration wasn’t fabricated.  Up until recently, he’d lived with the annoyance of Zevian scaring away all of his suitors.  “Yeah, _that’ll_ work.  When it comes to me, my sire has only one mode: Guard Dog.”

Evindar sighed, and Orindel tried not to laugh.  He guessed his friend was picturing Zevian and the slight blush that rose in the singer’s cheeks when their eyes met confirmed it.  It was so damned cute, the way Evi still crushed on his sire.  Remembering the purpose of this dare, he got back into character and recalled what happened next.

"What’s it like?" Orindel prompted.  "Kissing, I mean.  You know, with the tongue and all."

Evindar stared at him for a moment, before sliding the hand resting on Orindel’s shoulder up to the nape of his neck.  He urged him closer and they closed the distance between their mouths at the same time and kissed.  Evindar caressed his jaw and throat with his other hand as his lips and tongue massaged Orindel’s.  The bassist got into it fast, stroking his companion’s exploring tongue with his own and making a soft, purring sound of delight in his throat.  He might swing more toward sires when it came to which cut of meat he preferred, but Orindel still swore to this day that Evi was the best kisser he’d ever met. 

"Now unbutton his shirt," came the unexpected, mildly slurred command from Ronin.

At the same time, Alistair offered a suggestion of his own.  “Put your hand down his pants.”

Evindar and Orindel both started laughing into each other’s mouths.  They broke the kiss and regarded their spouses with amusement.

"You spoiled the moment with your jokes," Evindar accused.

"Who was joking?" Alistair demanded.  "I was serious."

"I was too," agreed Ronin.  He hiccupped into his hand and passed the rum bottle to Orindel.  "You didn’t have to stop on our account."

Evindar smirked at him.  “Would you have let us go all the way, without a word of protest?”

"Have I ever complained?" challenged Ronin.  "I sheem…er…seem to recall telling you I like seeing you kiss each other."  He ended the sentence with another hiccup.

"Don’t tempt me," Orindel said, not entirely joking.  The only reason he and Evindar never got much further than kissing was because they both ended up dating other people, and they didn’t want to strain their friendship. 

"So, whose turn is it now?" Alistair asked.  He took the bottle when it came back around to him and he drank the last of the rum. 

"I have to pee," announced Evindar.  "Orindel gets to pick when I come back, though."

Orindel climbed to his feet with a grunt, tugging the oversized t-shirt he’d “borrowed” from his mate into place when he realized part of it was tucked into his jogging pants.  “I’ll go get us some snacks.  I think doc is kind of shit-faced and he needs something in his stomach.”

"Just don’t get lost on your way to the kitchen, again," warned Evindar.  "Use the lights, this time."

Orindel blushed a little as the others chuckled at his expense.  He didn’t quite know the layout of the Adder house completely, and he ended up in the laundry room when he went for some water, the night before. 

"It’s not my fault your place is so damned big," complained the bassist.  He missed the little apartment he shared with his spouse in the city, and he sighed.  At least he got to spend more time with his dearest friend, and there was a whole studio in the basement to jam in.

* * *

 

Orindel found the kitchen without a problem this time—mainly because a storm was brewing outside and the lightning flashed through the windows and lit the way.  He could have turned the lights on as Evin suggested…if he could remember where the nearest switches were.  He got around by feel and he sighed in relief when he made it through the archway of the huge kitchen and located the button switch on the wall.  He clicked it and he squinted as the kitchen lit up.

"Food," muttered the bassist as he walked to the big steel refrigerator.  "What do we want to eat?" 

He opened the right door, realized it was the drink chilling section and tried the left door.  He started sifting through the dairy products and veggies, thinking he could make a cheese plate of sorts.  He considered popping open one of the bottles of wine chilling in the other side, but he nixed the idea.  He didn’t know shit about what kind went well with cheese, and they probably shouldn’t have wine after rum anyway.  Orindel searched the walk-in pantry until he found some wheat crackers and he grabbed the box, intending to spread them out on the plate with the cheese and veggies.  He made it out of the pantry just as lightning struck somewhere alarmingly close. 

"Fuck," blurted the young man as the accompanying thunder made the whole house vibrate.  The lights went out abruptly and he was plunged into darkness. 

"Guess it’s time for ghost stories next," Orindel said with a shrug.  He carefully made his way over to the counter island where the half-prepared snack plate waited, trying not to run into anything or trip.  The linoleum was chilly on the bare soles of his feet as he padded over the floor and he made a mental note to grab some socks to put on, when he got the chance.       

As he started to pass by one of the big, octagonal windows, another flash of lightning illuminated the stormy horizon and for a brief moment, Orindel swore he saw a man standing just outside of the window.  He gave a start and he squinted, trying to see details as the light faded away.  There was another, milder flash of lighting a few seconds later, revealing that there was nobody there, after all.  Whomever it was either moved, or they were never there to begin with.

"Probably one of the guards," muttered Orindel, more shaken than he cared to admit. 

He’d only caught a glimpse of the figure, but for a split second, he thought his sire was standing out there spying on him.  It was a ridiculous notion, of course.  Zevian would have called first if he could, and if he couldn’t he would have just walked up to the house and asked to be let in.  He wouldn’t be sneaking around to peek through the windows.  Orindel willed his heart to stop racing and he started spreading crackers over the plate with the rest of the munchies he’d arranged.

He sensed someone behind him just as a hand came down on his shoulder, and the bassist yelped and tossed the box of crackers into the air. 

"It’s just me," Evindar said with amusement when Orin turned to face him with huge eyes.  The singer carried a little squeeze light in his right hand.  "When the lights went out, I thought I should come and check on you."

Orindel felt foolish, and he looked down at the floor where half of the crackers now lay broken and scattered.  “Look what you made me do, Evi!”

"Sorry," apologized Evindar.  "I’ll help you clean that up.  Are you okay?  The last time I saw you look like that was when your sire caught you sneaking a cigarette."

Orindel remembered that legendary time all too well, and the feeling of utter dread he got when Zevian Saber walked into that garage and saw him puffing on a Caliber Light.  He had to agree that the scare he’d gotten then was just about equal to the scare he’d received just now.  He didn’t want to worry his friend, though.  His sire’s insistence that he and Alistair come and stay with Evindar for a while for protection had him spooking easily, and Evin didn’t need more to worry about right now. 

"I’m fine.  The thunder just freaked me out a little.  That last one was pretty fucking loud." 

Evindar looked at the window.  “Hopefully it will settle down, soon.”

Orindel nodded, relaxing a bit.  “Yeah.  Let’s get this shit cleaned up and get back out there to our babies.”  An idea came to him and he grinned, forgetting all about his little scare.  “Hey Evi, why don’t we make the sires kiss each other next?  That would be hot.”

"Ronin doesn’t ‘flip’ the way we do," Evin warned.  "He might not cooperate."

"He’s drunk and he’s pretty loosened up," reminded the bassist.  "I say we give it a shot.  The worst he can do is say no."

Evindar chuckled.

* * *

 

-To be continued.


	28. Chapter 28

* * *

The first thing Ronin noticed upon waking was the awful pounding in his head.  The second thing was the odd position he was lying in.  He was on his back on the floor, with blankets and pillows piled all around him.  He cracked his eyes open and groaned, grimacing at the aftertaste of stale rum clinging to his tongue.  Someone had been thoughtful enough to shut the curtains of all the bay windows, keeping the sunlight from pouring into the spacious lounge room.  He realized after a moment of gathering his bearings that his head was resting on Evindar’s stomach.  He lifted it with some effort and looked around for their guests.  Alistair and Orindel appeared to have vacated their spots, if the rumpled blankets were any indication.

Ronin reached up and rubbed his sore eyes.  “Evin?”

"Mmm?"  The lifebearer stirred and his stomach rose beneath Ronin’s head with his slow inhalation of air.

"How did we end up on the floor of the living room?"

Evindar raised his head and looked around.  “You don’t remember?  Orindel conducted a slumber party, last night.”

Ronin _did_ recall the bassist and his spouse approaching him with the rather silly idea, but his memory faded once they started playing “Truth or Dare” and hitting the bottle of South Sea Rum from the liquor cabinet.  He struggled into a sitting position and he immediately regretted it.  His head throbbed as soon as he sat upright and he pressed the palms of his hand on either side of his temples.

"And where might our house guests be?" Ronin gritted out, massaging his temples.  He felt Evindar’s skilled, calloused fingertips kneading his shoulders and he sighed as the lifebearer rubbed the spot at the base of his skull in little circles.

"In the kitchen," answered Evindar softly.  "Alistair insisted on making breakfast.  Let’s join them, and get you a couple of aspirin."

"I wholeheartedly agree," sighed Ronin.  To his chagrin, he needed his spouse’s help to get to his feet and he staggered a little once he did.  "I feel like I drank a distillery."

"You might have had a bit more than the rest of us," admitted Evindar in an amused voice.  "I _did_ warn you to ease up.”

"Well, now I’m paying for it, for sure."  Ronin put an arm around the lifebearer’s waist and allowed him to guide him into the kitchen. 

He took some comfort in seeing that Orindel looked almost as miserable as he felt.  The blond’s hair was wild and tangled—and not on purpose, for once.  He had on a pair of mirrored shades, hiding his undoubtedly bloodshot lavender eyes from view.  He glanced up at the couple when he heard them stumble into the kitchen and despite his apparent misery; he gave them a mischievous smile of greeting.  The hoop piercing on his lower lip glinted in the morning light that filtered in through the vertical blinds.

"How’s the head today, doc?  You look like shit."

"As opposed to you," countered Ronin with a meaningful nod at the sloppy bassist, "who looks like a fresh rose on a spring morning?"

"You’re making me blush," quipped Orindel, not fazed in the least by the facetious reply.  "Have a seat at the bar and I’ll get you some juice.  Ali’s just about done with the eggs."

"I’m really not hungry," protested Ronin as he sat down on one of the stools, "but I’ll take those aspirin you mentioned, Evin."

"I’ll go and get them," promised the singer with a smirk.  He looked at their houseguests.  "What about you two?  Do you need some aspirin?"

"We’ve already taken some, man," assured Orindel.  "Take care of your baby, Evi.  We’ll get him to eat something."

"I appreciate the thought, but I said I’m not hungry," Ronin said.  He gave Evindar’s bottom a familiar little pat as the lifebearer turned away to exit the area.

Alistair half-turned from his place at the stove, on the other side of the kitchen.  His thick, long mane of dark auburn hair was held back in a ponytail.  “You should try to eat something, Ronin.  Even just one egg, to give your body a little boost and put something on your stomach.”

Ronin sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to get away with turning down breakfast.  He crossed his arms over one another on top of the surface of the island counter, resisting the temptation to lay his head down on them.  “Fine, but it will be a wasted effort on your part if I can’t keep it down.”

Orindel shrugged.  “At least you’ll have something to yak up, if that’s the case.”  He grinned at Ronin’s hands before turning away.

Wondering what the bassist found so amusing, Ronin looked down at his hands.  He frowned when he saw that his nails were painted red, and he lifted his right hand and peered at it.  “Who did this?”

Alistair shot a grin over his shoulder at his mate, who was snickering behind his hand.  “I’ll give you one guess, doc.”

"Hey, the temptation was too strong," excused Orindel when the doctor shot a glare his way.  "I warned you that the first one down was going to get pranked."

"I don’t recall that warning," sighed Ronin, "but I probably shouldn’t be surprised."  He nearly asked what the bassist was doing with nail polish in the first place, but he remembered this was Orindel.  The blond ignored gender and sexual boundaries all the time.  One year he even performed on stage in a schoolgirl getup, and he made a pretty convincing teenaged girl.

"What else do you remember?" Orindel lifted his shades and regarded the pediatrician with a twinkle in his eyes.  Amazingly, they weren’t bloodshot at all, as Ronin had initially suspected.

Ronin shrugged, trying to recall the events of the night before.  “I remember Alistair falling flat on his face, and I remember someone kissing.  You and Evindar, wasn’t it?  You acted out your first kiss?”

Orindel nodded.  “Yeah, we sure did.”

"That’s _all_ you remember?” prompted Alistair with a quiet little smile.  He started transferring the fried eggs to the waiting plates, depositing them on top of pieces of buttered toast. 

Ronin frowned again, struggling to bring the rest of the fuzzy events into focus.  “Was there more kissing later on?  I’m sorry, but I’m never good at recollection when I’ve had too much to drink.”

The couple grinned at each other and Orindel answered the question.  “Oh yeah, there was more kissing.”

Ronin was intrigued.  His mate returned to the kitchen and he smiled at him when he took the offered pills from his hand.  “Evindar, what did you and Orin get up to, last night?  These two are teasing me with hints and I can’t remember everything.”

Evindar grinned at the others.  “You really don’t remember?”

Ronin shook his head and popped the pills, chasing them down with the glass of orange juice Orindel had supplied for him.  “No,” he said after having a few swallows.  “I know there was more kissing, but I can’t recall the details.  That’s a pity, because it sounds like you two put on quite a show.  You didn’t happen to catch it on video, did you?”

"No, but now I wish we had," Orindel said, wide-eyed.  "Damn, why didn’t we think of that, Evi?"

"Next time," promised the singer with a chuckle.  He looked at his spouse again.  "Orindel and I weren’t the only ones kissing, last night."

"Oh?" Ronin’s curiosity piqued again.  "Did Shade and Lorik stop by?" 

He expected to find out the sire couple was sleeping upstairs in one of the spare rooms.  Instead, his three companions shared a conspirative look between them, and his confusion returned.  “What?  They aren’t here?  Will someone tell me what’s going on, please?”

"Shade and Lorik never came by," Evindar obliged.  He was watching the doctor with a sly, sensual smirk on his lips.  "They aren’t who I was referring to, Ronin."

It was beginning to dawn on him, though he wanted to deny it.  While Ronin appreciated the thought of two hot lifebearers making out with each other, he had no interest in the same scenario with two sires.  He was rather conservative on that front, and he would never dream of kissing another sire or a human man.  He looked at Alistair, covertly hoping his mate was pulling his leg and the others were just playing along with it.

Alistair—usually a little on the shy side—winked at Ronin.  “That’s right; it was us.”

"Oh."  Ronin pointed at himself, then at the other sire.  "So…so you and I…"

"Kissed," finished Alistair for him, smiling softly.  "Orindel dared us and you said: ‘What the hell’.  Don’t worry though, it was just in fun and you’re still as vanilla as you ever were.  One kiss won’t change that."

Feeling a little foolish over his own sexual insecurity and the amused way they were all looking at him, Ronin forced a light-hearted tone to his voice and he shrugged.  “Fair enough.  So, how was I?”

Alistair considered the question for a moment.  “I don’t think you can grasp the concept of exchanging submission.”

Ronin flushed when Evindar looked at him with a grin and a nod.  “So I’m a terrible kisser.”

"No, I _like_ your aggression when we kiss,” assured the singer with a consoling pat on Ronin’s shoulder, “but if two people are both determined to dominate the kiss, it turns into a wrestling match between tongues.”

Alistair nodded.  “Exactly.  You’re a fine kisser, doc.  You’re just very…vanilla.  I could _definitely_ appreciate your technique as a dominant partner.  Fortunately, I don’t mind giving ground.”

"What he’s trying to say is you tongue-fucked him good and proper," Orindel explained bluntly, winking at his spouse, "and that’s not a bad thing at all."

Though he was somewhat mollified by the explanation, his embarrassment was acute and Ronin knew he was blushing like a schoolgirl.  “Can I have my breakfast, please?”

The others chuckled again and they took pity on him, changing the subject to other matters such as the weather forecast and what they wanted to do later on.

* * *

 

They finally got cleaned up and out of the house by noon, prompted by Orindel to go out and do something.  More clouds rolled in and it began to rain again, though not as heavily as it had last night.  Evindar wanted to stay at home, being uninterested in dealing with the press or any fans that might recognize them while they were out.  Orindel convinced him to come, if only just to pick up some things in town and get a little fresh air.

"You can’t just mope around the house the whole time your son is away," lectured the bassist with unfaltering determination.  "Come out for a little while and wear your magic disguise, if you’re worried about attracting too much attention.  We don’t have to hit any of the busy spots in town…just a grocery near the edge and maybe a pizza place for dinner."

Evindar sighed and gave in, expressing amazement that his friend could even think of eating pizza or any other greasy-type party food after waking up with a hangover.  Orindel always bounced back faster than anyone else, though; he was just made that way.  He had the energy of a hummingbird, but he burned it faster than the others and thus, he had to replace it more often.  They took Alistair’s car into town to reduce the chance of recognition and Evindar teasingly despaired over Orindel’s hyper nature.

"I don’t know how you keep up with him," announced the singer from his seat in the back with his spouse.  "I’ve seen kids that are more mellow."

Orindel flipped him the bird without turning in his seat or looking over his shoulder at him.  “I’ll remember that when the zombie apocalypse comes, man.  I was planning on helping you slackers escape the undead cannibals, but since you said that, I’ll let you slowpokes lag behind to make tasty meat snacks.”

 Ronin raised a quizzical brow.  “Zombie apocalypse?  What is he on about?”  It was a well-known quirk of Orindel’s nature to drift off subject onto any number of strange scenarios, and the look on the doctor’s face said now was just such a time.

Orindel glanced back at him and rolled his eyes, nudging his mate.  “He doesn’t remember the movie we watched last night.”

"Well, he _was_ pretty drunk by then,” excused Alistair, keeping a cautious eye on the road as he drove through the rain, “and it was past two in the morning.”

"I hardly remember the movie, myself," Evindar said, "except for the part when they ate that man’s eyes.  That was disgusting."

"Yeah, I thought you were gonna go hurl," snickered Orindel.  "You don’t have the stomach for creepers, Evi."

"I never have," agreed Evindar.  "You know that.  I only watched it because I was too drunk to care very much about the gory parts.  Can we talk about something else, please?  I really don’t need the mental images when I barely made it through breakfast without being sick."

Orindel took pity on him.  “All right, no more talk about the zombie movie.  Maybe you should take a couple more aspirin or something, Evi.  Looks like the doc is recovering faster than you are, today.”

"He’s still recovering from the birth of our son," reminded Ronin.  He gave his mate a faintly concerned look.  "Maybe I shouldn’t have let you drink that much."

Orindel sucked his teeth and beside him, Alistair winced, knowing what was coming.  “It’s not our business, babe,” he muttered to the bassist as Orindel tugged his seatbelt and turned around to look at the sire in the back seat. 

Orindel didn’t heed the warning, of course.  He glared lavender daggers at Ronin in a way he hadn’t done since the couple first got bonded.  “Maybe you shouldn’t have ‘ _let him’_?  You want to rephrase that, Adder?”

"Orin, it’s okay," Evindar said patiently before his mate could say anything.  "He didn’t mean it that way.  Tory’s birth _did_ run me down and Ronin _is_ a doctor, after all.  He specializes in the care of little ones and helping parents adjust to new additions in the family.  He knows better than to think he can actually _forbid_ me from doing anything.”  He looked at his mate and raised an auburn brow.  “Right?”

"Right," agreed Ronin in a tired tone.  He shut his eyes and rubbed them with his thumb and first finger.  "I’m too tired and hungover to argue this.  You should know better by now, Orin.  Evin rules over me, not the other way around."

Orindel was mollified by the response and he relaxed, feeling a little bad for coming down on the blond sire so quickly and harshly.  “Sorry dude.  I guess I still need to work on shaking that protective thing I’ve got going for Evi.  I’m a little on edge, too.”

"About your sire’s concerns?" guessed Ronin.  "I don’t think you have anything to worry about.  He was right to play it safe and encourage you two to come and stay with us for a while, but it’s just a precaution.  Sandman has no _reason_ to come after you…not really.”

Orindel turned back around to face the front and he shrugged without comment.  He wasn’t so sure Sandman didn’t have a reason for going after him.  He had a powerful suspicion that Zevian knew the man, and he’d had it ever since Ronin was nearly killed.  If there was some kind of history there that gave the Sandman incentive to go after Zevian’s family, maybe they shouldn’t blow it off.  Orindel said nothing about this to his companions, though.  As with his brief scare last night, he didn’t want to alarm Evindar.  His old man got him worked up—probably on purpose to convince him to stay with Evi for a while. 

* * *

 

Some twenty minutes later, they were at a merchant strip on the edge of town and Evindar had his illusionary identity in place.  Orindel didn’t bother with a disguise.  They were in a sparsely populated area and people tended to recognize Evi before they recognized the rest of the band.  Even when a fan or two spotted him, Orin and he didn’t mind chatting with them or signing an autograph.  He figured anyone brave enough to approach him for one deserved it.  While Evindar and Ronin went into a clothing shop to browse, Alistair went to check out a novelty shop and Orindel checked out some of the property photos displayed in the window of a nearby real estate dealership.  The rain had died down and a few beams of sunlight even broke through the cloud cover. 

"Look what I found," enthused Alistair, tearing Orindel’s attention away from an image of a cute little stone house in the suburbs.  "I think it would match your eyes and hair."

Orindel turned to look at the rhinestone-studded collar his spouse presented to him and he smirked in spite of his vague concerns and anxiety.  Made of black leather, the piece was decorated with purple and red stones.  It was perfect for a stage outfit, but it was also something Orindel would probably wear on any given day, too.  Alistair was always finding things like this and buying them for him, confident that he was picking out something he’d like.  He was rarely wrong about that, and the bassist looked into his gentle, light blue eyes and softened his smirk to a smile. 

"Good catch, baby.  Thanks."  Unconcerned with the other people in the market square, he hugged the sire and gave him a lingering kiss on the mouth. 

"That pizza joint you like is just a block over," Alistair murmured against the lifebearer’s animated lips.  "Maybe when our friends are finished looking through the clothing store over there, we can pick one up."

"Mmm, yeah," agreed Orindel.  "You’ll help me eat it though, right?  I don’t think Evi and the doc are up for it and I don’t want to eat a whole pizza by myself."

"I’ll have a few slices," promised Alistair with an amused look.

"Good. I’ve got to take a piss, so why don’t you go check on our buds while I’m in there?  You know how they like to wander off on us when we all go out somewhere."

Alistair nodded in agreement and gave him a last quick smooch.  “Right.  Meet up with us in the clothes shop when you’re finished, babe.”

"Will do." 

Orindel watched him go for a moment, admiring the way the black denim pants complimented the shape of his firm ass.  He smiled, happier than ever to be with a sire that was so versatile in the bedroom.  Maybe when they got back to the house and finished eating, he could show his appreciation for Ali in a more…thorough…way.  With a little sigh of intrigue at the thought, he walked across the street to the public restroom building and he took care of his business in the lifebearer toilets.  He washed his hands afterwards and he started to whistle a little tune as he stepped outside.  A rough, deep voice stopped him in his tracks and made the hair rise at the nape of his neck.

"Orindel.  You’re grown into a beauty—just like your father was."

* * *

 

Evindar had just come out of the fitting room with a couple new pairs of designer leather pants, when Orindel came hurrying up to him.  The look on the bassist’s face and the pallor in his usually bronze complexion gave Evindar pause, and he frowned at him with worry. 

"Orin, what is it?  You look like you’ve seen a ghost!"

 ”I have!” 

Orindel grabbed Evindar’s arm and looked around in the manner of a wild animal that knew it was being hunted.  As he turned, Evindar saw a flash of metal and he gaped at the naked switchblade in his friend’s right hand.

"What’s going on?" hissed the singer, casting a quick look around.  Thankfully, nobody was close enough to see the weapon.  "Orin, put that away!"

"Where are the sires?" demanded the blond without compliance.  "We need to haul ass out of here…like, now."

"Ronin and Alistair are next door in the book shop," Evindar said, "but I don’t understand what’s—"

"Just _trust me_ ,” interrupted Orindel.  He practically dragged Evindar along by the arm toward the store exit. 

Evindar waved the pants in his free hand and stammered a protest.  “B-but I haven’t paid for—”

"Forget about the fucking pants!" Orindel’s Zarnian accent came back full-force.  "Just leave ‘em at the register, we’ve got to go!"

Evindar had no choice but to take his advice, or risk having the shopkeepers chasing after them for shoplifting.  He gave the sire at the register an apologetic look as he dropped the pants on top of it in passing.  The man’s eyes went wide when he saw that the blond of the two of them had a blade in his hand, but he didn’t say anything.

Ronin was just stepping outside with a new book in his hand when Orindel accosted him, treating him just as roughly as he’d treated his mate.  “Come on, R-man!  Let’s motor!  Ali, move your ass!”

Alistair was emerging behind Ronin and he stared at his spouse with confusion.  “What’s going on?”

Orindel somehow managed to manhandle all three of them and he began to herd them toward Alistair’s sedan, parked on the other side of the street.  They narrowly avoided getting hit by a car in passing and the driver honked his horn angrily at the group.  Orindel flipped him off absently and practically stuffed his companions into his mate’s vehicle.  He didn’t give Alistair a chance to get into the driver’s seat.  He got in himself and snatched the keys from the sire’s hand. 

"Baby, tell us what’s going _on_ ,” demanded Alistair once they were all in the car. 

Orindel made sure the doors were locked and he jammed the keys into the ignition, checking the rearview mirrors before looking this way and that.  “Buckle up, people.  Speed limits are about to be ignored.”

Ronin lost his composure and he yelled at the bassist as he hastily put his seatbelt on and helped Evindar with his.  “Orindel, for forests’ sake, tell us what’s happening!”     

Orindel started the car and revved the engine aggressively, making his mate wince in the passenger seat.  “We’re going to the Ulvari agency.  I’ve gotta buzz my old man and his friends in VF.”

The other passengers looked at each other with confusion and dread as Orindel peeled out of the parking space.

* * *

 

_Valkyrie Falls, Avras:_

Ammiteo accompanied Idrisar to the airport alone.  Blackbird didn’t want a big deal to be made of his leaving, and only Ammiteo, Glaive and Haden knew the true reason behind his decision to take a paid, extended vacation.  The rest of the department just assumed he needed some well-deserved time off, and nobody questioned it.  He was on the last international flight out of Valkyrie Falls.  The couple stopped at the security check to Idrisar’s gate and they looked into each other’s eyes, both struggling for words.  Ammiteo shook his head and reached out to caress Idrisar’s fine-boned features.

"I can’t think of anything constructive to say," admitted the director.

Idrisar smiled quietly at him and shut his eyes, turning his head to nuzzle the bigger man’s palm with his lips.  He opened his eyes and looked up at him when he finished and he heaved a soft sigh. 

"I think you and I have said everything we needed to say to each other, Ammiteo.  Words can’t help me, right now.  Knowing you’re keeping alert and watching your back _will_ , however.  Promise me you won’t take un-necessary risks in this case.”

"Have you forgotten who I am?" Ammiteo said, forcing a smile.  "I’m not agent Glaive."

"I know," agreed Idrisar, "but you aren’t quite as patient as you once were, either."

Ammiteo parted his lips to argue with that, but he couldn’t drudge up a rebuttal.  Idrisar’s perception was right on the nose, as usual.  Because of what Sandman had done to the lifebearer when he had him in his custody, Ammiteo found himself less inclined to practice caution.  His hunt for the fugitive had become somewhat personal, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to distance his emotions from the case.

"I’ll try," promised the sire softly.  It was the best he could do.

Idrisar nodded and took both of his hands.  “I’m sure you will.  I’ll contact you when I arrive at the Spirit Keeper temple.”

Ammiteo’s phone started to go off as he parted his lips to respond, and he frowned in annoyance.  He was prepared to put it on silent mode and return the call after seeing his lover off, but when he saw the ID on the screen, he paused.

"It’s Director Talith," he informed as Idrisar looked at him curiously. 

"You’d better answer it, then," suggested the lifebearer.

Ammiteo nodded and gave Idrisar’s hand a brief squeeze before bringing the phone to his ear.  “This is Ammiteo.  What can I do for you, Sir?”

"Director Ammiteo, we have reason to believe the suspect in your branch’s top case is here in Rhuidhim.  There’s been a sighting."

Ammiteo stared at the polished tiled floor with lowered brows.  “Are you certain?  Granted, we haven’t heard anything from him since our agent escaped his compound, but I can’t think of a reason he would pack up and leave for Rhuidhim.”

"Our informant is someone significant to the case, Ammiteo," answered the other director.  "The son of Zevian Saber.  He arrived at our headquarters just a little while ago, and he was quite agitated.  He said that a man claiming to be his grandsire approached him at a merchant strip on the other side of town.  Considering what we know of Tsyther’s living relatives, I do not think we should discount Mr. Dragomere’s report."

Ammiteo shut his eyes briefly, imagining how Saber would react to this news.  “Did he harm or threaten the boy?”

"No," assured Talith.  "Orindel said that he claimed he just wanted to see him.  Somehow with everything that has occurred so far, I doubt that was his only motive."

"Agreed."  Ammiteo looked at Idrisar with troubled eyes.  "We should arrange a conference about this right away, Sir."

"Yes, we should," concurred Talith.  "I have Mr. Dragomere, his spouse and their friends under protective custody and we have sent people to investigate the area of the sighting.  Whatever Sandman is planning, we don’t intend to make it easy for him."

"I’ll return to headquarters immediately when I finish here and I’ll call everyone in for the conference," promised Ammiteo. 

"Then we’ll speak later.  Until then, Director Ammiteo." 

Ammiteo ended the call and he explained everything to Idrisar.  He looked at the lifebearer hopefully when he finished, thinking he might put off his trip for a while, with this new opportunity to bring the criminal to justice.

"If he really _is_ in Rhuidhim, there’s a better chance at capturing him,” reasoned Ammiteo when Idrisar stared thoughtfully off into space.  “The Ulvari there are greater in number and they have a lot of veterans to put in the field.  This could be it, Idrisar.”

"Maybe," agreed the lifebearer after a few more moments of silence.  He looked up at Ammiteo again and he gave him a tired smile.  "But we’ve thought that before, haven’t we?  I’ve learned not to assume anything, when it comes to this bastard."

Ammiteo had come to know him well enough to read between the lines.  “You aren’t postponing this trip, are you?”

Idrisar shook his head.  “I can’t.  I would love to, but I can’t put this off, even if it means missing out on the chance to finally see Tsyther brought in.  I _have_ to know whether I’m really suffering from posttraumatic stress or if he still has some hold on me.  If it’s the latter, the Spirit Keepers are my best chance to get well again.”

"I understand," Ammiteo said.  He put his arms around the smaller man and he didn’t care that they were in public.  "We can’t change what’s happened, but I’m going to make damned sure he doesn’t remain free for long.  Concentrate on getting well, Idrisar."

"I’ll try," answered the lifebearer with a little smirk of irony, echoing Ammiteo’s earlier promise.  "Get him for me, but don’t get killed in the process."

Ammiteo nodded, and he lowered his head for a kiss.  Idrisar returned his embrace and kissed him back deeply, putting just as much feeling into it.  A young woman walked by on her way through the gate and she got so distracted by the sight of the two of them kissing that she tripped over her own feet and nearly fell.  The couple reluctantly parted and Ammiteo solicitously asked the girl if she was all right, while Idrisar tried not to laugh.

"I’m fine," she promised, blushing to the roots of her blond hair.  "Thank you. Just ignore me and keep doing…what you were doing."  She hurried away, but she cast a quick, admiring look over her shoulder at both of them before going through the gate.

Ammiteo turned back to Idrisar, blushing a little.  “I suppose humans are never quite going to get used to seeing same gender or lashran relations in public.”

"At least she didn’t complain."  Idrisar chuckled into his hand, shaking his head.  "That was cute."

Ammiteo spared a moment to marvel over the lifebearer’s expressed amusement.  “You really like humans, don’t you?”

Idrisar glanced at the retreating girl one last time and shrugged.  “I find them refreshing, don’t you?  I mean, compared to our carefully controlled behavior.  As a race, they’re more open with one another than we are.  I envy that aspect of their culture.”

"Some would say they’re just ruder than we are," said Ammiteo dryly, "but I think I understand."

There was an announcement that all passengers for flight ZA-144 should begin boarding.  Idrisar’s smile faded and he sighed.  “Well, that’s me.  I should get going and you need to return to headquarters.”

"Yes." 

Ammiteo watched the lifebearer shoulder his carry-on bag—which contained his laptop and various traveling toiletries.  He couldn’t resist taking Idrisar into his arms one last time and giving him a final goodbye kiss.  When they broke away again, Ammiteo forced a smile.

"I’ll be waiting to hear from you.  Don’t make me worry, agent."

Idrisar gave him a tiny smile.  “Never.  I’ll talk to you in—” he checked his watch.  “—Well, sometime tomorrow around lunchtime.  I promise, I’ll get in touch the moment I’m settled in.  I’ll want to know what’s happening here, too.”

"It’s a deal."  Ammiteo held his hands gently until Idrisar pulled away, and the lifebearer walked backwards for a few steps to watch him, before turning around to head through the gate.  The director stayed there until his lover was out of sight.  Once he was gone, Ammiteo turned and left, trying not to get his hopes up that _this_ time, they would succeed and Idrisar’s nightmares could finally end.

* * *

 

When Zevian was told that his son was with the Ulvari-vash of Rhuidhim and wanted to speak to him through video chat, he had a terrible suspicion.  When he turned on his laptop and connected to the secure chat room provided by the agency, he got his confirmation.  While Azurel stood behind the guild lord and rubbed his shoulders, Zevian activated the video feed and he saw his son’s pretty, angry face appear on the screen. 

Zevian kept his voice level, reminding himself not to jump to conclusions and panic.  “Orin?  Can you see me, kid?”

Orindel’s violet eyes glared at him from the other screen, and his pouty lips drew into a frown.  “Yeah, I see you…asshole.”

Zevian winced and Azurel patted his shoulders and silently withdrew to give him a little privacy.  The sire glanced over his shoulder and when he saw that his lover had put his earbuds in and started playing up his digital music player, he turned his attention back to the screen.

"Good to see you too, ragmuffin.  What’s going on?"

"You told me Grandsire was dead, Pops."  The reflective glow of anger in Orindel’s eyes didn’t fade, causing Zevian to almost regret the clarity of the graphics on his machine and the speed of the connection.

"So I did," answered the sire, tensing in spite of himself.  "Are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

"The guy’s pretty freaking lively, for a corpse," Orindel replied.

Zevian felt an interesting combination of heat and cold race through him, and he swallowed as he reigned in his emotions.  “Someone told you he’s alive?”

"Yeah," answered the bassist.  " _He_ did.  At first, I thought it was just some random nutty fan trying to pull something with me, but then I noticed he had the same hair color as you, and his eyes were shaped the same.  Something was off about his face, but he had your jawline, too.  I was going to blow it off, but then the fucker vanished into thin air and I thought about how worried you were about this ‘Sandman’ dude coming after me.  After that, I grabbed Evi and our guys and we hauled ass here to the Ulvari.”

It was confirmation that one of Zevian’s greatest fears since this began had come true, and he sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.  He was at _least_ thankful that Tsyther hadn’t tried to kidnap Orin or hurt his companions, but he was trying to understand why he revealed himself like that, if not to claim his grandson.

"Dad, are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?" Orindel’s voice was tense and angry.

Zevian opened his eyes and looked at his son’s image on the screen.  “Looks like I don’t have a choice, but first I need you to tell me what happened.  Did he threaten you?  Did he try to take you somewhere?”  His fists clenched in his lap and he wished he had a drink.

"No, he just talked to me," answered Orindel.  He seemed to pick up on the tension in Zevian and he gentled his tone a little.  "Relax, old man.  I’m fine.  He came up to me after I finished taking a piss and he told me I looked like my father.  I warned him not to fuck with me because like I said before; I thought he was just some crazy fan or something.  He started talking about you and Father, and he said some things strangers wouldn’t know.  I started paying more attention to him and I remembered R-man’s description of the dude that attacked him in the hotel that day, when Agent Blackbird got all fucked up trying to protect him.  I asked him who he was and he said he was my grandsire.  I told him you said he was dead and he just…smiled.  It was creepy, man…like a shark’s smile or something.  He said I should ask you for answers.  He said to tell you that you should never have tried to keep me from him.  He also said to give Dr. Adder his regards and that cinched it for me."

Zevian’s vision went red for a moment, and he had to fight the urge to stand up and pace the room.  “You stay with the Ulvari, you hear me?  I’m going to handle this.”

"That’s cool, but you owe me a story, Sire.  Tell me what really happened when Gramps supposedly ‘died’.  Don’t skimp on the truth, either."

Zevian groaned inwardly, but he’d been expecting this day to come, sooner or later.  “All right, I’ll tell you.  It’s going to have to be the shortened version for now, but we can sit down and talk about the details when things get resolved.”

"Fine.  As long as I get some kind of explanation, I’ll deal."

* * *

 

_A short time later in the dead hours of night, somewhere in Ocathia:_

_Buzzz….bzzz…buuuzzz…_

Aurora frowned, coming out of her light doze as the soft buzzing and subtle vibration against the mattress roused her.  She was about to make a sleepy joke to her companion that he should book a separate room, if he was going to fall asleep with a vibrator.  Realizing it was coming from the phone Vurk had left lying between them on the queen-sized bed, she rolled onto her side and nudged him.

"Vurk…your contraption wants you."

"Mmm," he sighed. "Answer it for me, won’t you sweetness?  I need my beauty sleep."  He was lying on his stomach, with his arms folded over one another and his face buried in the gap.  His pillow was crammed against the headboard, forgotten.

 Aurora looked at the thing lying crammed between their pillows and she sighed.  She really hated these modern portable phones and their thousands of applications and overly sensitive touch-screens.  Above all, she hated “texting”, and she couldn’t understand why anyone would type in messages with piss-poor spelling to each other when they could just call and talk, instead. 

"I hate you _so_ bloody much,” she groused at the phone, even as she reached for the thing.  She had one for emergencies too, of course, but she avoided using it like the plague.  She put the phone to her ear and answered with all the charm of a cranky badger. 

"Aye, what do you want?"

* * *

 

Beside her, Vurkanan listened in a half-asleep stupor.  He almost felt sorry for whoever dared to call at this hour, but then he comprehended that nobody _would_ be calling him at this hour, unless it was an emergency.  He struggled out of his reverie and listened closer to what Aurora was saying to the person on the phone.

"Yes, he’s here, Director.  Why don’t you tell me what this is about and if it’s important enough, I’ll see if I can rouse him.  You called in the black hours, and unlike myself, he likes to sleep through the night."

Aurora paused and listened.  Vurkanan could feel the tension rise in her body as she responded to whatever the director was saying.  “I’ll be damned…you’re _sure_?  Hmm, that isn’t good.  I’ll be sure to wake him and let him know.  Don’t expect an immediate appearance, but as soon as he’s awake enough to teleport without killing us, I’m sure he’ll want to come.  I hope Agent Blackbird recovers swiftly.  All right then, goodbye.”

He wasn’t surprised to feel her shaking his shoulder, a moment later.  He lifted his head and peered at her through a mass of silver hair, squinting against the sudden light from the bedside lamp she had turned on.  “I take it this can’t wait ‘till sunrise?”

Aurora shook her head and dragged her fingers through her unkempt raven hair.  “Not especially.  Guess what, Vurk?”

He sighed and rolled, struggling into a sitting position.  He spit out a strand of hair that had somehow found its way into his mouth and he mimicked her actions, combing his hair out of his face.  “I’m in no mood for guessing games.  Just tell me what the phone call was about.”  A sudden surge of hope made him perk up, when he considered her words.  “I don’t suppose they’ve captured their villain, have they?”

 ”Not yet, but you might be interested to know your divination skills don’t ‘suck’ as much as you think they do.”  She was grinning craftily at him as he sat up.

Vurkanan covered a yawn before responding.  “What do you mean?”

"Seems Zevian’s son had a run-in with the Sandman in Rhuidhim.  I’m betting he was right where your little wisp said he was, but you thought it was off because we all thought he would still be somewhere near Valkyrie Falls."

Vurkanan frowned, not entirely pleased with the news.  “But, that makes no sense.  Agent Blackbird reported that Sandman was standing outside his house around the same time that I conjured that spell.  Not even a spirit singer can be in two places at once!  Someone has to be mistaken.”

She grimaced.  “Aye, Blackbird was.  They didn’t find any evidence to support his claim that Sandman was there, and he was the only witness to actually _see_ him.  I’m afraid the lad was more shaken up over what happened to him than he wanted to admit.  It’s a pity…he’s damned good and they could use him on this endeavor.”

Vurkanan sighed.  “Yes, it _is_ a pity.  I rather like Blackbird and his quiet, calm nature.  What are they doing about his condition?”

"He’s going to the Spirit Keepers in Zarn," obliged the woman.  "I say that’s a good call.  If Sandman knocked something loose in his head, they’re the ones that can fix it."

"Unless it’s purely psychological damage," muttered the sorcerer.  "But Landrin would know more about such things than I."

"Let’s hope it’s something they can treat at the Chalice," Aurora said, "and we’ll concentrate on taking that son of a bitch down while he’s recovering.  Ammiteo says they’re working with the Rhuidhim Ulvari on an apprehension plan, and he wants us to be in on it.  Do you think you can manage a teleport after you wake up a bit, or should we book airline tickets?"

Vurkanan smirked when he saw her shudder a little at the thought of flying in a plane.  Aurora would always prefer sea travel or magical travel to modern modes of long-distance transportation.  “Let me have a shower and get my wits, and I’ll begin working on a fresh teleport spell.  I’m afraid the enchantment on my pendant is too weak to be used, now.”

* * *

 

The next day, Ammiteo and Kent arranged a private meeting with the top agents involved in the Sandman case.  Vurkanan, Aurora and Zevian were there as well—the former having arrived late the night before.  Only Haden and Glaive were present, so there were no questions over who Aurora was.  They checked thoroughly to be sure the room was clean of any hidden monitoring devices before they began.

"They want to move in on him as soon as possible," Ammiteo explained, "and we’re prepared to send your teams to assist.  Mr. Darshaw, whatever you did to divine his location recently must have worked, according to your partner.  The Bargel on this case haven’t had that sort of luck, and neither have the sorcerers in Rhuidhim.  If you’d be willing to share your secret to make this go easier, we’d be very grateful."

Vurkanan cringed inwardly when everyone looked at him.  “I…would love to share my method with other sorcerers, but it’s not really something I can ‘share’.  I used the same chants, crystals and materials that any other sorcerer would use.  My accuracy usually leaves much to be desired, but in this case, I got lucky.  I’m sorry, Director…I can’t offer my success to your other magic users.  What I _can_ do is attempt to divine his location again, using the same methods as before.”

Kent sighed.  “That’ll just have to do.  Okay then, let’s get this ball rolling.  Agent Wolf, you can’t go on this trip because of the added risk to you and the chance it could compromise the effort, but I want you to pick the team of knights we send to assist.”

Haden nodded, seeming a bit pacified.  “Will do, sir.  At least I get to do _something_ to help.”

Ammiteo looked to Glaive.  “Since Blackbird isn’t available, you’ll be my CEO in his stead.  You know Sandman’s strengths and weaknesses, and I believe you know who would be best suited in our guild to take on this endeavor.  The Ulvari team is up to you.”

Zevian stood up and cleared his throat.  “Mind if I take the floor for a minute?  I know you’re all eager to rush off and bag my old man, but I think you’re forgetting something important.”

"Like what?" demanded Aurora.

"Like the fact that this is a ruse," answered the mafia lord bluntly, his handsome features hard with frustration.  He looked around the room at his companions, his aqua gaze intense.  "He’s had years to track down and contact my son.  When I found out he was alive, that was one of the first things that came to my mind.  Maybe he’s been watching the tabloids for all this time to keep up with what Orindel’s been up to, but one thing my old man isn’t is sentimental.  He contacted Orin for a reason, and I don’t think it was for a family reunion."

"You think he’s playing us?" Haden asked with a frown.  "You’re not worried about your son at all?"

Zevian gave the knight an exasperated look.  “Why the hell do you think I’m insisting he and my godson stay at the Ulvari facilities with their family, kid?  Of _course_ I’m worried about him, and I know there’s a chance I could be wrong about this.  The thing is, Tsyther had the perfect chance to nab Orindel and he didn’t take it.  If he really wanted to use him against me to make me quit your group, he’d have kidnapped him by now.”

"He’s right," Aurora said with a frown.  "Sandman took Agent Blackbird in broad daylight, with other agents nearby.  There’s no reason he would have hesitated to take his grandson with him if he wanted to…especially with no help nearby to stop him."

"Maybe I’m slow, but I don’t get the logic," Haden said.  "How does him contacting his grandson help him against us?  Maybe the guy really just wanted to have a look at him."

Glaive shook his head, his pink gaze thoughtful on Zevian.  “No, I think Mr. Saber is onto something.  The report given by Orindel stated that Sandman was chatty with him about his personal life and Zevian’s.  If you consider the language he used, you could reasonably assume he was trying to provoke something.  He might not have expected Mr. Dragomere to go rushing off to the Ulvari, but he would have _counted_ on him confronting his sire over his alleged death.  He would have known that once Zevian found out he came into contact with his son, we’d hear about it as well.”

"So he’s trying to bait us," reasoned Ammiteo.  "He _wants_ us to come after him.”

Zevian nodded.  “Something he really wants is in this building.”  He looked straight at Haden.  “And if your best people are off hunting him down in Rhuidhim, they can’t be here to defend this place or protect Agent Wolfe.  It’s a classic move; lure the defense away and go after the prize while they’re distracted.”

Glaive shut his eyes and sighed.  “And he’ll stop at nothing to have his vengeance.  I know this man and he doesn’t know the meaning of giving up, once he has a goal.”

Aurora blew a low whistle.  “Damn, I’ll bet that man is good at chess.”

"But agent Blackbird said that Sandman was willing to exchange a ransom for him and be on his way," Kent pointed out. 

"A ransom he never got," reminded Haden grimly.

"And he was only willing to make the exchange after extracting detailed information about this facility from Agent Blackbird," added Glaive, "and we don’t know for certain how much information he was able to glean before Idrisar escaped."

"The money would have just been a bonus," Zevian informed them, crossing his arms over his chest.  "Any promise he might have made to leave your Agent Wolfe alone after that would have been bullshit.  He’s made up his mind and he won’t stop until he’s killed his target or died trying.  He’s made it clear he wants Agent Glaive to suffer.  He really _hates_ you, friend.”

Glaive smirked.  “The feeling is mutual.”

"Then sending people to assist in the Rhuidhim operation would be a waste," muttered Kent.

"We can’t just ignore the sighting, though," Ammiteo said.  "And I doubt Director Talith will call off the operation even _with_ the information that it’s probably a ruse.  It’s our duty to put forth our best effort to neutralize criminals like this and we can’t just go on guesswork.”

Haden frowned and held up his hand.  “Hey, I’ve got an idea.”

Glaive couldn’t resist picking on him.  “Did it hurt?”

The knight nudged him.  “Ha, ha.  Anyway, who says we have to send our _best_ people there to assist?  What if we keep the teams we’d normally send after him here, and send different teams to help in Rhuidhim?  I’m not saying the others suck or anything, but we probably should keep our specialized teams here.”

The two directors looked at each other and shrugged in unison.  “I’ve got no problem with that plan,” approved Kent.  “Good thinking, Wolfe.”

"But I’m not done yet, Sir," Haden said.  He got out of his seat and he started pacing.  "What if we do more than send a bogus team to Rhuidhim?  We know he’s been finding ways to monitor our communications, right?"

"Yes, but we’ve since had specialists install new firewalls into the system," answered Ammiteo.

Haden shrugged.  “Something tells me that isn’t enough.  The only reason Sandman hasn’t found out about my weekend ‘getaways’ is because you guys have never put it into the system.  I’ll bet we’ve still got a ghost in our machines somewhere, and we could use that to our advantage.”

"And how would you suggest we do that, mate?"  Glaive looked intrigued.

Haden shrugged.  “Bait and switch.”

Everyone looked at each other in confusion—particularly Vurkanan and Aurora, who weren’t as familiar with modern terms.  Vurkanan voiced the question on all their minds first.  “I’m afraid we’re lost in the woods.  Care to step back and show us the path out, Mr. Wolfe?”

Haden raised a puzzled brow, but he translated the meaning behind Vurkanan’s metaphor quickly.  “Uh, sorry.  Bait and switch is a sales tactic, right?  They advertise something and when the customer comes to get it, they claim they’re sold out and they ‘switch’ them to something close but more expensive.  What if we use that tactic against Sandman?”

"You’re suggesting we use you as bait," guessed Glaive with a frown.  "I’m not keen on that, Wolfe."

"Just hear me out," insisted the knight.  "Sandman’s main goal is to get to me, so he can punish you.  Hunting him down hasn’t worked for us so far.  Maybe it’s time to lure him to us.  He’s obviously planning to infiltrate this place to get to me, eventually.  Let’s give him the opportunity he wants.  Make him think we’re all rushing to Rhuidhim to go after him, and someone can ‘accidentally’ let it leak into the system that our security system is compromised and needs fixing.  Make it look like I’ll be here, vulnerable and ripe for the killing.  Meanwhile we’ll have all of our primary teams waiting and ready if he shows up."

He looked around at them with a shyly proud expression on his face.  “See what I mean?  Bait and switch…we offer him something he wants, but give him something else when he shows up to claim it.”

"I have to admit, that’s a good plan," Zevian said, scratching his chin, "but you’d have to make it look good.  You can’t make it obvious that the ‘leaked’ information was put in there on purpose."

Vurkanan looked around at them all, troubled.  “I’m not overly fond of Agent Wolfe offering himself up as a sacrificial lamb, but luring this psychopath to you well be your best chance to capture him.”

Aurora nodded.  “The bastard is as slippery as an eel.  This is a good plan, I say.”

Haden looked at his partner with raised eyebrows.  “Well, what do you think?  You’re the one that can do the most butt-kicking if my plan works.  Are you in, Glaive?”

The lishere didn’t look at all happy, but he couldn’t deny the solid logic behind the plan.  He looked at the directors, who both appeared to be waiting on his opinion.  “I think this is the best plan any of us have come up with so far.  I support my partner.”

Ammiteo regarded Vurkanan.  “As we spoke of earlier, you’re the only one who’s managed to get a solid reading on the suspect.  We’ll need some way to confirm that this plan is working, if we go through with it.  Do you think you could use your divination to track Sandman’s movement again?”

Vurkanan looked at Agent Wolfe, whose safety was personally important to him.  “You can count on me to put everything I have into it, Director.  I can’t promise I’ll succeed again, but there will be no skimping of effort on my part.”

* * *

 

When the meeting ended and they walked to the elevators together, Aurora asked her friend the question that had been on her mind ever since she learned Vurkanan’s divination had worked after all.

"They’ve had people more talented than you with divinations working on tracking Tsyther from the beginning," she muttered.  "So tell me Vurk…what was different about the last spell you cast?  You had to do _something_ out of the ordinary.”

Vurkanan looked at her with a strangely subdued expression on his pretty face, before he reached into his silk shirt and lifted the silver locket he kept around his neck out of it.  He opened it to reveal the miniature portrait of Lyre inside of it.  He’d kept the locket with him for all this time, and he never took it off.

"I prayed to him," he confessed softly.  He gave a trembling smile to the image of his deceased mate and he gently closed the locket again.  "I prayed to our Lyre and I asked him to help me find this man.  I think…he heard me."  His eyes filled with tears and he sniffed, quickly looking away.

Aurora’s eyes stung warningly as well and she put an arm around Vurkanan’s waist.  “He always said there was nothing he wouldn’t do for you.  It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s keeping that promise from beyond the grave, love.  Just do that again when you use your spell and maybe we’ll finally see an end to this.”

Vurkanan nodded and wiped his eyes.  “I’m no spirit singer, but I have the ghost of one of the kindest, most devoted mates a lifebearer could ever ask for on my side.”

Aurora kissed him on the cheek and pressed the elevator button.  “Aye, that you do.”

* * *

 

-To be continued


	29. Chapter 29

* * *

_Zarn, the Spirit Keeper temple on the Chalice, 8:12 pm:_

A tall, rather willowy sire with delicate elfin features greeted Idrisar at the entrance to the temple courtyard.  His platinum hair was straight and fell all in one length to his mid back, pinned back from his face with mother of pearl hair combs.  His almond-shaped eyes were gray in color and they regarded the Ulvari agent with kindness and reassurance.  His appearance was on the androgynous side, even by lashran standards.  He wore the white, silver embroidered robes of the highest ranking anointed and he moved with easy grace.  He gave a traditional bow of greeting to Idrisar, and he followed up by offering his hand.  His grip was firm and reassuring as they shook hands and he smiled warmly.

"Agent Blackbird, welcome to the grounds," he said in their native tongue.  He spoke with a Rhuidian accent.  "I am Keeper Syndal.  You’ve arrived right on time."

Idrisar returned his smile and gave a little bow of his own before speaking in his native tongue.  “Thank you for the warm welcome, Sir.  I appreciate your order’s willingness to help me.”

"Of course," soothed the keeper.  "It’s our duty to help our people—particularly those of noble heart, who defend the innocent."

Idrisar lowered his gaze modestly, reminded of a comment Zevian once made to him about the Ulvari.  “I only hope the Ulvari-vash are never required to return to our roots, Keeper.  We have a long, dark history and much of it isn’t noble at all.”

"That would depend on how you see it," answered the keeper.  "Come, I will show you the grounds.  Is that all you’ve brought with you?"  He nodded at the modest little suitcase at Idrisar’s side. 

The agent nodded.  “Yes.  Everything I need for my stay is in my backpack and this case.  I’m not here for a vacation.”

The sire nodded and he took the handle of Idrisar’s suitcase and began to pull it behind him.  “Please, allow me.”

Idrisar wasn’t entirely comfortable with allowing someone of such stature to handle his luggage like a common bellhop, but arguing with him would have been rude.  He adjusted his hold on his backpack and he fell into step beside the taller lashran, looking around at the beauty of the courtyard as they walked through the gate.  The serenity of the garden and the little fishpond was comforting to him, and the light from the lanterns and the moonlight glistened on the water. 

 ”What did you mean by your comment, earlier?” Idrisar asked softly as they walked the path to the main entrance.  They passed a couple of other robed sires on the way, both of which gave Syndal respectful nods in passing.  Idrisar guessed by the deep blue color of their silk robes that they were both still in apprenticeship. 

"My comment?" queried Syndal, glancing at Idrisar sidelong.

"You said: _'it depends on how you see it'_ , when I remarked about the history of my guild.”

"Ah," sighed the keeper with a nod.  "That.  Well, you have to take into context the _reason_ behind that dark history, Agent.  The Ulvari were trained to deal death, this is true…but not just for the sake of doing it.  You know how to kill a person fast, with minimal suffering.  Is this not true?”

Idrisar nodded, answering with matter-of-fact honesty.  “A good Ulvari can bring a normal target down before he can even register pain, yes.  A clean, merciful kill is the mark of a professional, and it’s considered dishonorable to deliberately prolong suffering—even if we believe the target deserves it.”

"And would this include the man who harmed you?"

Idrisar grimaced, but he nodded.  “Yes.  If I had the chance, I would give him a clean death.  I would want to look him in the eye while I do it, though.  What he did to me and threatened to do to my family is unforgivable, but I wouldn’t let him turn me into a common murderer by going against my principles; no matter how tempting it might be.”

The spirit keeper smiled.  “You see?  You’ve just answered your own question.  Sometimes good people have to do unsavory things to protect their people, their way of life or their families.  That doesn’t mean they must enjoy it, and it doesn’t make their cause less noble.  The Ulvari of the past protected the Council and eliminated threats to their nation.  They were not contract killers.  When Tsyther went against your guild’s teachings, he betrayed them just as he betrayed us.  His actions do not reflect the teachings of the Ulvari, any more than they reflect the teachings of the Spirit Keepers.  People like Tsyther don’t comprehend that having power at one’s disposal isn’t justification for using it against others for one’s own gains.”

Idrisar nodded with a bit more enthusiasm, remembering saying something very similar to his grandson.  “I hope that eventually, I can recall how to put aside my personal feelings and resume my duties as normal.  I doubt I can do that until I know I’m completely free of Tsyther’s influence, though.”

Syndal reached out with his free hand and gave him a reassuring, gentle squeeze on the shoulder.  “We will cleanse your spirit and assist with your healing.  You are welcome to stay with us for as long as you need to, Agent Blackbird.”

Idrisar thanked him softly and his mind went to his lover, far across the sea.  He missed him already and he looked forward to calling him once he was settled into his guest chambers.

* * *

 

_Alliance Headquarters, Valkyrie Falls, 11:08 am:_

Ammiteo answered the call with enthusiasm that would have embarrassed him, had he worried about anyone seeing his expression.  As it was, he was alone in his office when Idrisar’s call came in and he was free to smile as wide as he pleased when he saw the ID.

"Agent Blackbird," he said as he answered the phone, "you’re punctual as always.  Did you have a good flight?"

"Yes," answered the lifebearer’s voice in an amused tone.  "It was an excellent flight, Director.  They’ve given me one of their empty sleeping chambers for my stay here and I’m settled in.  My first cleansing will begin tomorrow morning, after breakfast."

Ammiteo dropped the teasing formalities.  “So soon?  I would expect them to give you a couple of days to acclimate, before they began.”

"I’ve insisted on it," explained Idrisar.  "The sooner we begin, the sooner I can have this over with and return to my duties."

Ammiteo could appreciate his uncharacteristic impatience.  He wanted Idrisar to return home as soon as possible too, but not at the expense of his treatment.  “Just try not to rush it,” he cautioned.  “This isn’t as simple as taking a scrub-down after being exposed to hazardous materials, Idrisar.  This is your mind and spirit you’re talking about, and if there’s ever a good reason to take your time with something, this is it.”

"I know," sighed the lifebearer, "and I understand such a thing can’t be rushed.  There’s no reason to delay the treatment, though.  I feel fine and I’m ready to get started."

Trusting that the Spirit Keepers would know if Idrisar wasn’t truly ready to start, Ammiteo let it go.  “We’ll all look forward to your return—especially me.  Just take as much time as you need, so this doesn’t have to turn into two trips.”

"Of course," agreed Idrisar.  "I’ll temper my impatience and I won’t make plans to leave this place until they’ve confirmed that I’m either clean or they’ve done all they can.  You can count on me being thorough, Ammiteo."

The sire shut his eyes as he listened to the sound of his name on that voice.  He forgot himself and made a confession.  “I love hearing you speak my name.  Something about the way you do it feels like…a caress.”

There was a soft chuckle on the other line and Ammiteo flushed as Idrisar answered him.  “Shall I make a voice recording and email it to you, love?”

"Actually, that’s not a bad idea," teased Ammiteo, grinning with self-depreciation.  "It might help me sleep better at night, to listen to your voice before bed.  Childish of me, isn’t it?"

"I don’t think so," soothed Idrisar.  "In truth, I think it’s sweet and romantic…just like you."

Ammiteo found himself getting into the spirit of the long-distance flirtation.  These things always came so easy for him, with Idrisar.  “I’d prefer to have the real thing lying next to me at night, but until then the recording will suffice.”

"You’re serious?"  Idrisar sounded surprised and gently amused.

Ammiteo shrugged.  “What can I say?  I think most people would agree with me when I say you have a nice speaking voice and a beautiful accent, Idrisar.  It’s one of the compliments people give you when they talk about you behind your back, you know.”

"Do they?  Well, at least they aren’t bad-mouthing me."

"No," assured Ammiteo with a shake of his head.  His voice gentled.  "Because they love you." 

It was the truth, but Idrisar seemed disinclined to believe it.  “I think you might be exaggerating a bit, Ammiteo.  Regardless, it’s a nice thing to hear at a time like this, even if it’s a bit of an overstatement.”

The director smiled.  One of the things he liked about Idrisar was his modesty.  The agent really had no idea how attractive he was to people, on many different levels.  He decided it was time to tell him of their plans for dealing with Sandman, thinking it might give him some hope. 

"We have a very good chance of finally capturing our suspect, Idrisar.  Agent Wolfe came up with a very good idea and we’ve—"

"Don’t tell me."

Ammiteo stopped with a frown.  “Excuse me?”

"I don’t want to hear it," elaborated Idrisar.  "Well, I _do_ want to hear it, but I can’t.  I know I said I wanted to be updated on the case, but I don’t trust myself, Ammiteo.  Whatever the plan is, don’t tell me.  I’d rather stew in ignorance than get information I could possibly relay to him against my will, understand?”

The director felt the blood leave his face at the implication.  It had happened before…sleeper agents with no knowledge of what they were doing went into a sort of trance and betrayed their fellows.  Many years had passed since there was an incident like that, but it had been done before.  To think that Agent Blackbird of all people could actually be one of them, even after both Glaive and Saber had worked on him, was horrifying.

"You’re too strong willed to be afflicted that way," insisted Ammiteo stubbornly, swallowing.  "The Idrisar I know would never buckle to a sleeper compulsion…not easily, anyway."

The lifebearer’s response was stern, yet kind.  “The Idrisar you know also isn’t given to taking foolish risks, Director.  I appreciate your faith in me, I really do, but I’d rather err on the side of caution than risk blowing another chance to capture Sandman.”

Ammiteo was forced to concede with that logic.  “I swear, I’m going to see to it that you get a promotion when you return.”

"Another one?" Idrisar’s amusement returned to his voice, and Ammiteo could imagine him raising his eyebrows.  "Sir, any further promotions will have me out-ranking you.  I’m comfortable as your CEO.  Speaking of which, how is Agent Glaive handling the job in my absence?"

The question sufficiently distracted Ammiteo from his fawning—which was probably the intent behind it.  “He’s handling it well, considering the opposition he gets from his peers.  Vandrin is surprisingly cooperative about it, but some of the others have to be reminded from time to time that Glaive currently outranks them.”

"You sound surprised about Vandrin," observed Idrisar.

Ammiteo shrugged.  “Given the reason for his dismissal, I am.  I keep expecting the old Vandrin to emerge, but he keeps himself in check, for the most part.  He still has some work to do insofar as watching his mouth, but he’s really ‘sobered up’, so to speak.”

"You pushed him out of the nest," reasoned Idrisar, "and now he’s learning to fly.  Good for you."

 The metaphor brought another smile to Ammiteo’s face.  “Let’s just hope he shapes up to be the agent I’ve always thought he could be.”

"With you as his mentor, I’m sure he will."

The encouragement made the sire blush, and he was glad his lover couldn’t see his face right now.  “Thank you.  We’re going to begin the operation today.  Maybe this one will be the last.”

"I pray to the ancestors you’re right," sighed Idrisar.  "I will keep you in my thoughts, Ammiteo.  Please have a care for your safety, during this effort.  I’d like a whole lover to come home to."

The chance to be with Idrisar again was enough incentive for Ammiteo to practice personal caution, even if he wanted to cut loose on Sandman.  “I promise, Idrisar.”

* * *

 

Some time after lunch, the effort to lure their suspect into Haden’s trap was underway.  They sent off a team to Rhuidhim, to assist with the efforts there.  There was some comfort in knowing that even if they were wrong about Tsyther’s motivations, the Rhuidhim Ulvari branch had a chance of closing in on and detaining him.  The tricky part had been in convincing Talith to withdraw the additional security checks for international travel.  If Zevian was right about what his sire had planned, it would only hinder efforts to capture him if they made it harder for Sandman to travel.  The Rhuidhim airports were therefore instructed to report anyone that matched Tsyther’s description to the Ulvari, but not to detain them. 

 While the “decoy” team was sent to Rhuidhim, the specialized team remained behind and an unscheduled private meeting was held in a secure conference room.  Not even the officers from the Cothmere branch were let in on the meeting; it was only for those who had worked most closely on the case and could be trusted not to leak information.  They met up in the room at the appointed hour and Ammiteo allowed his human associate to get it started.  Kent did a headcount of Ulvari, Knight and Bargel participants before he began.  He looked around the room with sober hazel eyes as he spoke.

"We’ve got another chance to bring this guy in, people.  I don’t want to see it wasted.  If anyone in this room is not one hundred percent dedicated to apprehending this fugitive at all costs, find your way to the exit, now."

Nobody was surprised by his declaration and everyone remained.  Satisfied that they understood the importance of their teamwork and dedication, Kent continued.  “Good.  The information we’re about to impart is strictly classified, and it goes no further than this room.  As of now, we have a small ‘decoy’ team of agents traveling to Rhuidhim, to help the Ulvari there investigate a recent sighting report of our suspect.  We purposely kept the rest of you here for a contingency.  Yes, Agent McFarlane?”

Lily lowered her hand.  “What _sort_ of contingency, Sir?  If Sandman has been sighted in Rhuidhim, we should have been the ones on those assist teams.”

"We have reason to believe the suspect set up that sighting for his own benefit," Ammiteo said, "to draw our attention there and leave these facilities vulnerable to attack.  He still has people working with him and we don’t know how many.  With spirit singing abilities at their disposal, they are a _much_ bigger threat than your run-of-the-mill terrorists, and Sandman’s goal is still to get to Agent Wolfe.  We have good reason to believe he’ll attempt to infiltrate headquarters, in order to get to him.”

Vandrin raised his hand and when his cousin nodded in acknowledgement, he voiced another concern that was on the minds of many.  “What if you’re wrong about that?  Sending people that haven’t been on this case over there to apprehend the guy might blow the chance to bring him in.”

"The Ulvari of Rhuidhim are just as capable of dealing with the situation as we are," assured Ammiteo.  "More so, in fact.  They have veterans in their ranks and a guild of lashran enchanters, elementalists and summoners at their disposal.  If our Rhuidhim allies fail to apprehend him, it won’t be because of our team.  I very much doubt that our presence will have a notable impact on their performance, regardless of which team we send."

"Who stays behind here, however, can have a more significant impact on the outcome if Sandman attacks," Glaive added evenly.  "Our Cothmere guests are good, I have no doubt of that.  We, however, have experience with what this man and his allies are capable of.  Since we couldn’t exactly request that the Rhuidhim Ulvari send agents here to check for monsters beneath our beds, this was the most logical choice."

"This facility has suffered more blows to its reputation during the course of this case than the past five years combined," Kent reminded, "and Agent Glaive is right…we can’t go crying to the foreign Ulvari-vash like scared kids.  We deal with this our way and we prove that the Valkyrie Falls Alliance doesn’t need to be babysat by other branches.  Now, Tsyther is counting on his actions distracting us, and we’re going to use that against him.  If he shows up here like we believe he will, we’ll be ready for him.  Agent Glaive will talk you through the game plan." 

Kent gestured at the lishere and nodded, prompting him to begin explaining how they planned to secure the building without making it obvious that they were preparing for a possible attack.

* * *

 

_Later that afternoon:_

  After the meeting, Zevian returned to the room he was sharing with Azurel and he frowned when he saw that the young dancer hadn’t packed.  Azurel was sitting at the little dining table with a mug of coco in his hand and the daily newspaper spread out over the surface.

"What the hell is this?" demanded the guild lord with a gesture at his lover.

Azurel looked up from the paper and glanced at the mug in his hand.  “Hot chocolate and the paper.  What does it look like?”

Zevian shut the door with a frown.  “Don’t be a smartass.  Where’s your bag?”

Azurel looked over his shoulder at the sliding door closet by the bed.  “It’s in the closet, where I left it.”

"And is it packed?"  Zevian raised his brows expectantly.

The dancer returned his attention to his newspaper and took a little sip of his drink before responding.  “No.”

Zevian’s jaw clenched.  “Azurel, what part of ‘ _I don’t want you in this building during this operation’_ wasn’t clear to you?”

"All of it," answered the lifebearer pleasantly.  He looked up at Zevian with calm ruby eyes.  "I’ve thought about it, and why should I leave?  Right now, this is probably the safest place in the world for me to be.  I’m surrounded on all sides by trained Ulvari and Knights, not to mention Therril and Johnny."

"Therril and Johnny are supposed to be preparing to take you out of here to Star’s hotel room, by now," Zevian reminded him, "because this place isn’t going to be ‘the safest place on Wyndrah’ for long, if we’re right about Tsyther."

Azurel nodded, still maintaining his calm.  “I understand, but I’m still not leaving.  No offense to Johnny and Therril, but if Tsyther really wants to get at me, they won’t be able to stop him on their own.  Sending me to a little hotel room with them for a few days won’t protect me, Zev.”

"It’s still a damned sight better than keeping you here, where he could be coming to finish what he started.  For all I know, this place could end up going down in flames and I can’t be worrying about you getting caught in it."  Zevian went to the closet and pulled out Azurel’s black embroidered suitcase, tossing it onto the bed.  "Now get packing.  I’m going to call the boys to come and take you out of here, before it’s too late."

Azurel shook his head.  “No.  I told you, I’m not leaving.”

Zevian paused in the action of bringing his phone to his ear and he narrowed his eyes at the dancer.

* * *

 

"Zevian, put me _down_!”

Glaive stopped in his tracks at the sight of Zevian Saber carrying his struggling lover over his shoulder like a sack of grain.  He’d cuffed the lifebearer’s wrists together and bound his ankles with a belt, as well.  He ignored Azurel’s squirming as he spoke with his two mobster companions by the fire escape.  Azurel saw the lishere agent approaching and he gave him a pleading look through the loose strands of hair that had fallen partway over his face.

"Agent Glaive, would you _please_ talk some sense into him?”

 The Ulvari blinked at the scene, trying to make sense of it.  He’d come to check on Saber’s status, and he wasn’t expecting to witness something like this.  “I generally don’t involve myself in domestic quarrels, unless someone’s being abused.  Is he abusing you, love?”

"Yes!" 

When Zevian frowned over his shoulder at him, the lifebearer revised his answer with a sputter.  “Well, no, but he’s bound me against my will and he’s sending me out of here!  Make him put me down!”

Glaive fought back a laugh, shaking his head.  This was, without doubt, the strangest altercation between lovers he’d seen outside of television.  “You may not want to hear this, Azurel, but I happen to agree with his decision.  Until we can confirm that this facility is safe from attack by Sandman and his merry band of freaks, you’re best off not being here.  I’m the one who suggested he send you away, in fact.”

It was difficult to tell from his awkward position over Zevian’s shoulders, but Azurel looked either very disappointed or very offended.  Perhaps he was both.  “I don’t _believe_ this!”  He renewed his struggle, nearly making his lover drop him.  He reverted to the lashran tongue in his frustration and he spewed a few choice Zarnian curses at the sire holding him hostage.

Unable to hold the squirming young man for much longer without risk of dropping him, Zevian cursed and set Azurel on his feet.  The guild lord ignored Glaive and the other two men present as he cupped his lover’s face and gazed into his eyes.  He spoke firmly, with passion.

"Shut up and listen to me," demanded Zevian.  When the order intimidated Azurel to stillness, he went on.  "I’ve already seen two lifebearers that I care for suffer at the hands of my sire, understand?  Don’t fight me on this.  You’re better off away from this building."

"Particularly if Sandman got the layout of this place from Blackbird’s mind while he had him in custody," added Glaive supportively, with a glance at Zevian.  "He’ll know which room you’ve been staying in here, if that’s the case.  Listen to him, Azurel.  Tsyther likes to use his opponents’ loved ones to force their cooperation or exact revenge on them.  It’s one of the few predictable patterns of his nature.  Zevian is right to want you taken somewhere else while this goes down."

Azurel hopped a little to regain his balance as the bindings around his ankles hampered him.  He instinctively grabbed onto Zevian to keep from falling and he cast a frustrated look between him and Glaive.  “You really think he would come after me, when he could be going after Agent Wolfe?”

Glaive grimaced in spite of himself at the reminder that his lover and partner was the true objective, if Tsyther took the bait.  “If he thinks taking you hostage could offer him a tactical advantage, yes.  We can’t put anything past him, pretty dancer.  You should understand that, by now.”

Azurel visibly wavered, looking up at his determined lover with uncertain eyes.  “If you’re _sure_ this is the best thing to do, I suppose I’ll stop fighting it.”

Zevian remained steadfast, and he nodded.  “I’ve made my decision, flower.  Just humor me, and abide by it while we still have time to get you out of here.”

Azurel heaved a sigh and he nodded, apparently giving up the fight.  He held up his cuffed wrists to the sire and gave him a softly pleading look.  “I could walk out of here more easily without the restraints…and people might stop and ask questions if you leave me trussed up like this.”

Zevian gave a brief, crooked little smirk.  “All right, in the interest of raising as few questions as possible and getting you out of here faster, I’ll release you.”

Azurel held his wrists out when Zevian retrieved the keys to the cuffs from a pocket, and Glaive looked on with amusement.  The guild lord knelt before his lover and freed him from the belt he’d trussed up his ankles with next, and then he straightened back up and regarded his men seriously.

"Now get him out of here, and don’t bring him back until I give the okay.  I’m trusting you both to keep him safe."

"You got it, Boss," Johnny assured with a nod.

"If anyone so much as looks at him cross-eyed, I’ll be all over them," added Therril, picking up Azurel’s suitcase.

Glaive resisted a sigh at the bluster.  Hopefully Saber’s men were smart enough to concentrate on getting Azurel _away_ from any perceived threats to his safety, rather than trying to confront it.  He watched them go to the elevator with Azurel and he felt a bit sorry for the exotic lifebearer when he paused at the doors and looked back at Zevian with his heart in his eyes.

"Don’t get killed," Azurel said to his lover as the doors opened with a cheerful little tune.

Zevian smirked at him.  “My old man’s not interested in killing me, babe.  Don’t worry.”  He kissed his first two fingers and waved at Azurel in a farewell gesture.

Glaive approached the guild lord and he watched with him as the elevator doors shut.  Once Azurel and his two bodyguards were gone, the lishere turned to Zevian with a measuring look.  Zevian returned his gaze and raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"I’m just wondering if you can really pull this off," answered Glaive truthfully.  "It isn’t quite the same as what you did for Blackbird."

Tsyther’s ability to render himself virtually un-traceable was part of what enabled him to elude capture, for so long.  Zevian seemed to think he could make a crack in his defenses and handicap his stealth capabilities, given that he knew how his sire wove spirit energy.  The rest would be up to the Alliance operatives.

Zevian nodded soberly, and he took one of his guns out of its holster on his thigh and he inspected it, checking the ammo clip and the barrel.  “I know.  I’m not expecting to make a big impact, but at least I might be able to slow him down a little.”

"Right."  Glaive sighed and checked his watch.  "You’re the only one here that stands a chance of doing that, mate.  I can match him in an elemental fight but if he starts losing, he’ll want to pull another disappearing act and you’re the only one that can stop him."

Zevian smirked and checked his second gun.  “No pressure from you cats, eh?”.    

* * *

 

"Miss?  Miss, I need to see your identification tags, please…and you can’t just go right into the Director’s office!"  Ceindar circled around from behind his desk to intercept the young woman before she could get to Ammiteo’s door.

She stopped and turned to regard the secretary and she shook her raven bangs out of her blue-gray eyes.  She spoke with an accent he couldn’t quite place.  “I’m expected.  Agent Star.”

Ceindar was briefly taken aback as he got a good look at her fair, delicate features.  The bone structure and the size of her irises gave her heritage away to him, and he couldn’t stop the confusion from leaking into his voice.  “But…the Knights only recruit humans…or are you augmented?”  He’d never seen a human this heavily augmented before, though.  But for her gender and ivory skin tone, she looked like a lifebearer.

"Did I say I was a knight?" She smirked with amusement.  "Hands off, lad.  I’m here on behalf of the Rhuidhim Magi and Ammiteo knows I’m coming."

Ceindar’s nose crinkled and he looked her up and down.  The bodysuit hugging her slender form more closely resembled an Ulvari combat uniform than any Magi or Bargel outfits he’d ever seen.  “You’re a sorcerer?”

She held up her right hand and turned it over, so that the palm was facing upwards.  A spark of electricity manifested and danced over the skin briefly as she regarded Ceindar impatiently.  “Good enough for you?”

He gulped, suddenly worried that she might decide to shock him.  “My apologies, but I _still_ can’t let you pass without seeing some ID.”

"Ceindar, it’s okay."  Ammiteo had stepped out of his office during the exchange and he regarded the woman with recognition.  He gave her a slight, formal bow and stepped aside, gesturing at his open door.  "Agent Star, please go in."

She gave him a little nod and walked through the office door, shutting it behind her.  When she was gone, the muscular sire turned to Ceindar.  “She’s Agent Shard’s advisor, here by his request.  Take the rest of the day off, Ceindar.  I have no more appointments today and I can take it from here.”

"You’re sure?" The lifebearer’s dark blue gaze was uncertain.  "I know you’ve been extremely busy, Sir."

"I’m sure," insisted Ammiteo.  "There’s no point in you sticking around this afternoon.  Go and do something fun.  That’s an order."

Ceindar rewarded him with a thankful smile.  “Thank you, Director.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ammiteo gave a nod and a brief smile as his secretary went back to his desk to shut down his computer and finish up for the day.  Chances were, the building would still be on lockdown when Ceindar tried to come in for work tomorrow, but that depended on how well the teams did their jobs and if Sandman took the bait.

* * *

 

"That was an interesting trick with the electricity," commented Ammiteo when he joined Aurora in the privacy of his office.  "Mind telling me how you did that?"

The lashran woman held up the hand she had used to generate charge with, and she pointed at the plain silver band on her index finger.  “Vurk enchanted it,” she explained.  “It works like one of those electroshock gadgets you people use to stun troublemakers.  A mental trigger sets it off and it can give a nasty shock to someone, without doing any harm to me.”

"Impressive," complimented the Ulvari sincerely.  "And easily concealed.  What is your partner’s status?"

"He’ll be along shortly," she answered.  "He had some last minute inventory to take and he didn’t want to rush it and risk leaving anything important behind.  Have you sent the lure out, yet?"

Ammiteo nodded.  “The firewall dropped during an ‘error’ with routine maintenance this morning.  If Sandman is attempting to monitor our network, the event should have lasted long enough for him to get the information.  Measures were taken to ensure all vital data was protected, before the event.”

Aurora nodded, her eyes blank.  She tilted her head.  “I didn’t understand a damned thing you just said, Director.  Keep in mind I’m still trying to catch up with modern technology.”

The sire obligingly simplified it for her.  “Yes, the lure has been sent.”

"Good, then.  Mind if I have a seat while we wait for the shenanigans to start?"

Ammiteo gestured politely at the two chairs on the visitor side of his desk.  “Please, make yourself comfortable.  I don’t normally keep liquor in my office, but under the circumstances, I decided to make an exception.”  He went to the cabinet behind his desk and opened it, revealing a bottle of St. Thomas whiskey.  “I believe this is your poison?”

Aurora perked up with interest as he held out the bottle.  “I think I’m beginning to like you, Director.  I’ll take you up on that offer.”

Ammiteo smirked and procured a pair of plastic tumblers from the cabinet.  “Please don’t make me regret this, Mrs. Darshaw.  I trust you know your own limits and we need to stay alert.”

"No worries about that," she agreed.  "I’ve built up such a tolerance for this stuff over the centuries, it takes a gallon to get me drunk."

A flash of light in the center of the office room signified the arrival of their sorcerer ally.  Ammiteo reflexively reached for his weapons, despite expecting Vurkanan’s arrival.  He relaxed when he saw the silver lifebearer standing in the wake of the fading light, dressed all in form-fitting black, like his female associate.  Having mastered the art of controlling his gaze around attractive lifebearers dressed in such a manner, Ammiteo brushed the outfit off as a practical choice for the occasion and approached Vurkanan.  He offered a respectful nod of greeting and he extended his hand.

"Mr. Darshaw, it’s good to see you."

Vurkanan took the offered hand as he lowered his bag of supplies onto the floor.  “I wish I could say the same, Director, but I can think of many places I’d rather be, right now.”

"So can I," assured the sire, "but I’m thankful you chose to join in on this endeavor, all the same.  Is there anything I can get for you before you get started?"

Vurkanan heaved a sigh and looked around.  When he spotted Aurora raising her glass to him in a toast, he grinned and gave a nod at the bottle on the desk.  “I’ll have one of those too, thanks.  Maybe it will help me loosen up and relax, for this.”

* * *

 

While Vurkanan was trying to get himself into the ideal state of mind to begin his spell-work, Haden was checking out the perimeter security with Glaive and Malcolm in the control room.  The Ocathian had informed them that he thought something wasn’t quite right with the system after they brought it back online from the deliberate outage.  They knew they were taking a risk by dropping the firewall even for a few moments, but it was a necessary risk, in the interest of finally neutralizing their suspect. 

"How’s it looking, Malcolm?" asked Haden as he peered over the darker man’s shoulder.  His knowledge with computer systems ended with basic troubleshooting and installing games.

Malcolm shook his head, and the beads tipping the ends of his cornrow-braided locks clinked together.  “I’m not liking it, man.  On the surface, it looks like status quo.”

Glaive leaned over Malcolm’s other shoulder and peered at the screen with narrowed eyes.  “Then why are your hackles up?”

Malcolm kept tapping away at the keyboard, and he shook his head.  His hazel eyes never strayed from the screen as he spoke to his companions.  “There’s a glitch in the firewall now…or at least, that’s what it _looks_ like.  There’s a vulnerability in the sensory matrix that wasn’t there before.  We missed something when we ran the last check after dropping the firewall.”

Glaive frowned at the screen, his coral gaze following the charts and numbers with little more understanding than his partner’s.  “And do you think you can find this ‘something’ you might have missed?”

"Cool it, Lishere."  Malcolm immediately sighed and apologized for his outburst.  "Sorry man, I’m just trying to think and it’s a little hard with both of you looking over my shoulders asking questions.  This breach is getting wider and I need to figure out what’s causing it."

Used to being referred to in much less pleasant terms than “ _Lishere_ ”, Glaive shrugged.  “Point taken.  Haden, let’s step back for a few moments and give the man some room to breathe.”

Haden nodded in agreement, and the two of them moved away to give Malcolm a little space.  Haden glanced at Malcolm, who was cursing at something happening on the computer screen.  “I’ve got to wonder how deep Sandman might have dug in, during that outage.  Glaive, what if—”

Malcolm suddenly shouted a curse viler than the others before it, followed by an announcement that emphasized Haden’s concerns.  “ _Shit_!  It’s a logic bomb!  We’ve got a virus in the system, guys!”

Haden and Glaive hastened to their comrade’s side, seeing alarm windows popping up all over the screen.  Haden was the first of them to speak up, and he squeezed Malcolm’s shoulders urgently.  “Can you stop it?”

Malcolm shook his head.  “Best I can do right now is try to block it from doing more.  I think we set it off when we dropped the firewall.”

"So, someone planted this in the system," reasoned Glaive,  "and it’s been ready to go off under the right conditions?"

"Yeah."  Malcolm cursed, tapping commands into the keyboard as fast as he could.  "No idea how long it’s been there.  Whoever delivered it has my respect, though.  We never detected it."

The window-less room was suddenly plunged into darkness as the electricity went out.  For a moment, the only thing anyone could see was the faint, reflective glow of Haden’s eyes and the stronger glow of Glaive’s.  The backup generator kicked in just as they heard people in the hallways exclaiming and swearing, and the dim emergency light panels lining the ceiling illuminated the control room. 

"Dammit," cursed Glaive, looking around with one hand reaching for one of the knives at his thigh sheaths.

"Maybe some fuses just blew," suggested Haden.  When both of his companions looked at him with exasperation, he shrugged.  "Hey, you never know."

Malcolm got up from his seat at the console and he checked his own weapons.  “Haden, maybe we ought to think about getting you to the designated spot…just in case.”

Glaive nodded grimly.  “Agreed.  Let’s go, Haden.”

Having already agreed to the terms of his plan, Haden nodded and he gave his firearms a quick check as well, before leaving the control room with his partner and Malcolm.

* * *

 

Vurkanan was now working by candlelight and the afternoon light that filtered in through the big windows in Ammiteo’s office.  He actually preferred it that way, as opposed to artificial light.  When the electricity went out, he demanded that Ammiteo disable the emergency light panels in his office so that they wouldn’t interfere with his concentration.  The sickly yellow glow they produced bothered him and given that everyone in the room was endowed with Lashran sight, there was truly no need for them.  Aurora followed his instructions and lit his four candles at each point of the chalk circle he’d drawn on the floor, and she stood back with Ammiteo as he placed the map in the center and knelt before it.  He could have used Ammiteo’s desk, but he wasn’t comfortable with that.

"Please, Lyre," whispered the lifebearer, beyond caring if his companions detected his little prayer or not.  He shut his eyes and spread his hands out over the map.  "Help me track him.  Help me defend your father’s blood."

Perhaps it was the longing in his heart, or maybe it was due to simple desperation, but Vurkanan could have sworn that he felt the presence of someone crouching behind him.  He thought he felt a ghost of a touch against his shoulders, as if someone’s hands were hovering just over them.  He imagined that he could feel the warmth of his deceased mate’s breath against his ear, and he felt, rather than heard, the encouraging response.

_"I’ve never left you."_

Vurkanan opened his eyes and stared blankly at the map, finding his strength in the presence he sensed—even if it _was_ only his imagination.  He poured his will into the spell and he began to chant in a low, soft voice.

* * *

 

Zevian was just sitting down to check his weapons when his suite door opened without anyone knocking.  He impulsively drew his guns as someone stepped in, and he lowered them with a perplexed frown when he saw who it was.

"What the hell are you _doing_ here?” he demanded of his lover and the two sharks accompanying him.  “You’re supposed to be halfway across town, by now!”

"We didn’t make it out before the blackout, Boss," explained Johnny. 

"It hit just as we made it to the garage," added Therril, "and they locked the place up tight after that.  They won’t let anyone leave until it’s sorted out."

Zevian’s gaze immediately went to Azurel and narrowed in suspicion.  Seeing this, the lifebearer spread his hands and gave him a convincingly innocent expression of the wrongly accused. 

"Why are you looking at _me_ that way, Zev?  I didn’t do it.”

Zevian gritted his teeth, knowing that logically, Azurel couldn’t have possibly found a way to bring down the power grid in these facilities in the time he’d had.  Still, it was obvious by the poorly hidden relief in the dancer’s eyes that the blackout suited his purposes just fine.

"I’m going to try and contact Director Ammiteo about this," informed Zevian with a warning look at Azurel.  "We’ll get this straightened out and I want you away from here, as soon as possible."

Without waiting for a reply, Zevian produced his mobile phone and he tried calling Ammiteo.  After several rings the director picked up, and he spoke in a hushed tone that suggested he wasn’t in the ideal situation for chatting.

"What is it, Saber?"

Wary of saying too much over the phone with what was happening, Zevian improvised and he hoped Ammiteo would be able to read between the lines.  “I’m sure you’ve got business to take care of with this outage, Director, but my boys were on their way out of the building when the lights went out.  Your people locked the place down and wouldn’t let them leave, and it’s _very important_ that they make this meeting.  Do you think you can clear this up for us?”

Ammiteo sighed.  “I wish I could help you with that, but I’m still on probation and my clearance hasn’t been fully restored, just yet.  Even if it were, I couldn’t breach protocol during a lockdown like this.  There’s been a breach and there can’t be any exceptions.  I’m afraid your people will just have to remain here, until things clear up.”

Zevian glanced at his lover and turned away, lowering his voice and speaking through his teeth.  “That’s not going to work for me, Director.  We talked about this.  What about Kent, can _he_ do anything for me?”

"I’m sorry," apologized Ammiteo again, "But neither of us can do what you ask under these conditions.  If you need me to send someone to help you, I’ll be happy to do so."

Zevian sighed and shook his head.  Only two agents had the meat to take on Tsyther without heavy backup, as far as he was concerned.  One of them would be working with him on the plan and the other was currently across the ocean, getting therapy.  Impressive though their combat skills were, he doubted any of the other Ulvari or Knights could protect Azurel much better than Therril and Johnny.

"Thanks, I’ll take care of it myself."

Before he could hang up, Ammiteo gave him a covert reminder. “Do you have the statement I asked you to prepare?”

Zevian frowned in ignorance, utterly clueless for a moment.  He was sure Ammiteo was using code speak too, but he was so frustrated he had no idea what he was actually asking.  “The statement?  Refresh my memory.”

"I gave you a document after lunch," explained the director in a remarkably casual tone.  "Concerning your part in the case.  Are you going to fill it out?"

The guild lord still had no bloody idea what he was talking about, so he cast his mind back through the day and mentally retraced the events.  He remembered the communication device Ammiteo gave to him, nestled safely in the pocket of his blazer.  The director was trying to tell him it was time to make final preparations and test his transmitter.  They were all supposedly synched to a secure frequency that wasn’t linked to the organization’s typical channels.

"Yes," answered Zevian at last, patting his pocket.  "I’ve got it and I’ll fill it out as soon as I take care of my little issue."

"Good.  Don’t put it off, Mr. Saber."

Zevian grimaced, catching the warning in his tone.  “Right.  I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.” 

He ended the call and he turned to regard his companions grimly.  Thinking quickly, he went to the closet and procured one of his spares from a hidden compartment in his suitcase.  It was an older model pistol with a cylindrical bullet chamber, rather than a magazine for ammo.  The old revolver was just as accurate as its modern cousins and it fired rounds powerful enough to penetrate even some modern forms of body armor.  It was Zevian’s first good firearm, and he’d kept it in top condition.  He always kept it close, as much for sentimental value as for appreciation of a masterpiece of weaponry.  He found the ammo case for it and he glanced askew at his curious lover as he started loading it.

"Think you can use this when it counts, love?"

Azurel’s ruby gaze dropped to the black pearl-handled weapon, and it widened when he recognized it as Zevian’s “baby”.  He nodded, raising his eyes to the sire’s face.  “I learned from the best.”

Zevian finished loading the weapon and he checked the sight and made sure the safety was on before handing it over.  He held Azurel’s eyes with his own as the lifebearer took it almost reverently, and he took a slow breath.  He reached out and caressed the dancer’s face, speaking in a voice pitched for Azurel’s ears alone.  His men politely moved to the other side of the suite to give them a little privacy.

"You remember what I taught you about shooting?" Zevian urged.  "What’s the first rule, kid?"

"Don’t point it unless you’re going to fire it," answered the lifebearer immediately.  He slipped the gun into his jacket and gave Zevian a little smile.  "I remember _everything_ you taught me, boss.  You even said I had great aim, the last time we practiced together.”

"That was against a target," reminded Zevian seriously, "not a living thing.  You’ve got great accuracy against a bulls-eye and practice dummies, but morals come into play when you’ve got a person in your sights.  If it comes down to them or you, don’t hesitate.  Is that clear?"

Azurel sobered and nodded in understanding.  “Of course, Zev.  I may have lost my nerve with you when we first met, but that was a different circumstance.  I think I can pull the trigger when it really matters.”

Zevian stroked the dancer’s long, silky hair and he admired the way it shone as it caught a beam of the orange, late afternoon sunlight coming in through one of the windows.  The sun would be setting soon, and whether he was on this continent yet or not, Tsyther was most likely to make his move after nightfall.     

"I hope you don’t have to put that to the test, baby."

He sighed again, wishing he had the power to teleport Azurel somewhere safe, far away from here.  He frowned and considered Vurkanan.  The sorcerer _should_ be in the building by now, possibly in Ammiteo’s office.  Even if he hadn’t arrived yet, it wouldn’t hurt to leave a message with the director or Aurora for him.

"Zevian?" Azurel frowned in confusion when the guild lord put an arm around his waist and urged him toward the door.

"Come on," said Zevian, speaking to all three of his companions.  "I’ve got one last card to play before I’m ready to resign myself to you being stuck in this place while this happens."

* * *

 

-To be continued


	30. Chapter 30

* * *

The office was utterly silent as Ammiteo and Aurora watched Vurkanan work his spell.  It was therefore quite a jarring interruption when someone knocked on the office door.  Vurkanan’s eyes were glowing faintly as he stared down at the map rolled out over the floor with grim determination, and he didn’t look up from it as he spoke.

"Director, please answer that immediately and tell whoever it is to go away and leave us in peace."

Ammiteo hastened to comply; not because he typically took orders from civilians—no matter how powerful and ancient they might be—but because he knew how important concentration was for accuracy, when it came to divination magic.  He opened the door a crack and peered out at the sire operative he found behind it.

"I asked not to be disturbed unless there is an update on our status or an emergency that requires my immediate attention.  What is it, Agent?"

"Our ‘guest’, Mr. Saber," answered the Ulvari operative with a respectful bow.  "Sir, he insists on seeing you.  He says it’s important to the case and he’s out here with his lifebearer companion and two thugs."

Ammiteo resisted a sigh and tried to see past the other sire.  He could see the emergency hall lights shining on Zevian’s brown-gold hair, but the agent’s body blocked the view of the rest of them. 

"Let them in," ordered the director, stepping aside and pulling the door open.  "And I don’t want further disturbances unless specified conditions are met.  Is that clear?"

"Yes, Director."  The agent moved aside and motioned to the people behind him. 

Zevian Saber and his companions filed into the office, and the agent shut the door behind them.  Ammiteo locked the door and regarded the guild lord with veiled impatience, his expression stern and warning on him.

"What is it that couldn’t wait, Mr. Saber?  We’re in the middle of something and it can’t be interrupted."

Zevian leaned to one side to peer around Ammiteo’s muscular girth, narrowing his eyes at the spectacle of the sorcerer kneeling in his circle of candlelight.  “I see.  I hoped to get here before he started.”

Vurkanan spoke, still keeping his eyes on the map.  In his apparent frustration, he didn’t bother trying to sound modern.  “What do you _want_ , Mr. Saber?  Be quick about it, or I shall turn you into a toad.”

Zevian raised his eyebrows and looked at Aurora, as if questioning whether Vurkanan could do as he threatened.  The woman shrugged and finished the remains of her drink.  “You’d better not test him,” she advised with a smirk.

Zevian put an arm around his smaller companion and urged Azurel to step forward.  “I need you to teleport him to your hotel, along with these guys.”  He nodded at Therril and Johnny, who stood quiet and intimidating on either side of him.  “They won’t let them leave the building and I made it clear that I don’t want Azurel anywhere near this place while this operation is going on.”

Vurkanan risked a glance up and for a brief moment, his comely features softened with understanding and a hint of regret.  He returned his attention to the map on the floor immediately.  “I’m very sorry, but I can’t do that.  I need all my concentration to maintain this tracing spell and my medallion is attuned to Aurora and I.  It won’t work for anyone else, I’m afraid.”

Zevian glanced at Azurel and compressed his lips.  “You’re _sure_ about that?  Have you ever tried letting someone else use it before?”

Vurkanan’s brows furrowed and the glow in his eyes increased.  “Mr. Saber, I can appreciate your anxiety and your desire to protect your companion, but if you question me again, I’ll make good on my threat—even if it disrupts my spell.  Now, for the love of Wyndrah, shut _up_ and allow me to concentrate!  I’m already slipping and I don’t want to lose track of your sire.”

"It’s okay, Zev," Azurel murmured to the frustrated guild lord.  He threaded his fingers through Zevian’s and squeezed his hand, looking up at him with loving ruby eyes.  "There’s nothing more to be done and we shouldn’t disturb this man’s spellwork.  I’ll be okay."

Ammiteo considered the issue, understanding perfectly how Zevian felt.  Sires were hard-wired to protect the lifebearers of their race, much like the average human man instinctively tried to protect women.  When that lifebearer happened to be your lover or spouse, the need to protect him was that much stronger.  Having failed to defend his own love interest from Sandman once before, Ammiteo sympathized with the guild lord’s plight, more than he could admit aloud.  Given his history with the suspect and Sandman’s penchant for going after loved ones, nobody could accuse Zevian of being paranoid, or even over-protective.

"It wouldn’t be advisable for him to stay in your suite," reasoned the director in a low voice, mindful of Vurkanan’s need for concentration.  "He and your men can stay here in my office.  If you and Agent Glaive are right, the suspect will go straight for Agent Wolfe when he arrives…but if he knows the layout of this place as we suspect, it’s best not to tempt fate.  Short of hiding him in a utility closet somewhere until this is over, that’s the best I can give you."

"That will have to do," agreed Zevian, relaxing a bit.

"Make yourself comfortable," invited Ammiteo to the lifebearer, nodding at the two visitor seats facing his desk.  "If you drink whiskey, you’re welcome to a glass."

"Thank you, I’ll just sit," murmured Azurel.  He gave Zevian’s hand another squeeze and walked over to the chair on the left.  He had a touchpad device with him and he turned it on to read some document or book he had stored on it.  He was as quiet as a mouse, and were it not for his exotic looks, it could have been easy to forget he was even in the room.

* * *

 

While Azurel got as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, Zevian approached Vurkanan and looked down at what he was doing.  He was careful to stay clear of the sorcerer’s “circle”, marked by the four candles situated on the floor around him.  He saw a little wisp of light—about the size of his pinky nail—slowly moving in a south-easterly direction over the Entropic Ocean, away from the continent of Rhuidhim.  He tilted his head and his lips parted in wonder.

"Is that…him?"  He pointed at the wisp, still keeping out of the circle.

Vurkanan nodded.  “Yes.  He’s crossing to Avras as we speak.”

"He must have made it past security without anyone recognizing him," Ammiteo guessed with a frown.  "My associate in Rhuidhim pulled some strings to ensure they wouldn’t stop anyone matching his description from traveling, but they were to report it."

"Since they haven’t contacted you, I think we can safely assume he hasn’t been recognized," Aurora reasoned.  She looked down at the map with interest.  "Well lads, it seems that Saber and Glaive’s predictions were spot on.  He’s heading straight into your trap."

"Let’s not get presumptuous," cautioned Ammiteo.  "He could be returning to Avras for another reason.  One thing this criminal has taught me is that he’s not very predictable."

Zevian smirked and looked up from the map again.  “In some ways, he is.  You just have to know what to look for, Director.  The old man might not pull the same combat move twice in a fight, but when it comes to his obsessions, he’s easier to predict.  I knew what he was up to the minute I found out he’d contacted my kid but didn’t try to take him.  I just hope I get to see the look on his face when he realizes he’s been duped by the dupees.”

"There’s still the matter of our security system," reminded the director.  "That part wasn’t staged, and if we can’t get this building online and under control again by the time he and his people arrive, this plan will be even harder to execute."

Zevian shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest.  His long jacket rustled with his movements, briefly parting to reveal the guns strapped to his leather-clad thighs.  “Your people are trained to fight in worse conditions than this, Ammiteo.  Having the main lights out in the building won’t cripple Ulvari senses one bit, and the Knights have all that fancy reconnaissance gear and night vision equipment at their disposal.”

"It isn’t about lights," explained Ammiteo, "it’s about monitoring our situation.  We have censors in this building that can track any un-authorized intruders.  Cameras and sound monitoring equipment are only half of it.  We could seal off areas of the building, slowing his people down or even trapping them for apprehension.  We can’t do _any_ of that while our system is shut down, understand?  The virus took us _completely_ off line, and the only security that will work in this facility now is the sprinkler system and the manual locks.”

"Point taken," conceded Zevian, "but bitching about it won’t help us.  If we’ve played our cards right, Tsyther is still going to be walking into a trap.  Just make sure your people don’t snap it shut too soon, or he’ll slip out."

Ammiteo nodded in agreement, having no argument against that.

* * *

 

The hours felt like years, to Haden.  He just wanted it to all be over with, and he mentally willed Sandman to hurry up and come for him.  He tried to keep his mind off of it by reading the paper, but after scanning the same paragraph five times in a row without a single word sinking in, he gave up with a sigh.  He dropped the paper on the tiled floor and sighed.

“Here I am, hiding out in a Ladies’ bathroom, of all places.” 

It was either the craziest idea he’d ever heard of, or the most brilliant.  Zevian reasoned it would be the last place his sire would think to look for him, and since the doors to all the restrooms in HQ were sturdy and lockable, they put an “Out of Order” sign on this one and had Haden lock himself inside.  He looked around at the gray and white tiled walls, the metal stalls and the sensory-activated basins.  He’d heard some horror stories about women’s public restrooms, but this one was immaculate.  Maybe they had it cleaned up before sticking him in here.  There was a vent overhead leading into the duct system; one of Haden’s planned escape routes if anything went wrong.

This restroom was on the first floor, in reception.  At first, Haden wondered if it was too accessible, but then Glaive reminded him that by the time their enemies thought to check it, he could be out the door and halfway across the city.

_“Putting you in one of the upper floor or basement restrooms would mean putting stairs and an elevator between you and the exit, mate.  If you get word from us that they’re coming your way, you haul ass out of there and get outside.  Don’t look back and don’t linger.”_

Haden smiled a little at the memory of the conversation.  Maybe it should have bothered him to be lectured that way by his partner, but he knew he had a tendency to put bravery before brains.  Glaive didn’t state the obvious because he thought he was an idiot; rather, he did so to remind Haden not to try and be a hero.  His role in this was to protect himself until they could neutralize the threat.  He could have left the building to move to a different location, but they couldn’t risk Tsyther finding out about it and he was safer in the company of his fellow operatives than alone somewhere.

“Haden, do you copy?”

The Knight eagerly adjusted his transmitter and answered his partner.  “Yeah, I’m here.  What’s the word, Glaive?”

“Ammiteo has confirmed that the target is on the move,” answered the Ulvari, “so sit tight.  Our gamble appears to be paying off.”

“Okay.”  Haden checked his weapons with a sigh.  “But you know, I feel like a coward, hiding in here like this.”

“I understand that,” soothed Glaive, “but better to feel like a coward and live than to charge into battle like a fool and wind up a corpse.  We’ve been through this, Haden.  It’s practically a certainty that Sandman will vanish again once he’s accomplished his goal, if we allow it.  You martyring yourself for the sake of pride won’t help us put an end to this man’s insanity, and it will needlessly deprive me of a partner.  Just put up with it for _my_ sake, if you won’t do it for your own.”

Haden smirked.  “Oh sure…lay the guilt trip on me.”

There was a shrug in Glaive’s voice when he responded.  “If it will keep you safe, I’m happy to employ psychological warfare.”

“The ends justify the means, huh?  I just hope he hurries it up.  I’m really bored in here and I’ve already finished the crossword puzzle.  I can’t believe they won’t even let me play games on my phone or listen to my music.”

“Because it could potentially be tracked,” replied Glaive.  “You know that.  The transmitter is the only signal we dare allow, because it’s the only one we can confirm to be safe.  Hiding you won’t do any good if he somehow manages to trace your phone signal to your location.”

“But what about my disc player?  That doesn’t put out any signals.”  He’d since upgraded to a digital media player, but he hadn’t thrown his old player out.

Glaive sighed.  “You couldn’t have thought of that _before_ you moved to the designated area?”

“I was being hustled along so fast, I didn’t exactly have time to stop by my office.”

“Very well, then.”  Glaive’s voice sounded amused and annoyed at once.  “I’ll make a run to your office and retrieve it for you.  We have time before our friend arrives on Avras soil.”

“Appreciate it, man.”  Haden enthused.  “Don’t forget my music discs, okay?  The player’s no good if I don’t have something to listen to.  They’re all in a zipper book in the same drawer.  Oh, and could you bring me something from the snack machine and a soda?”

Glaive chuckled.  “Junk food?  You _must_ be feeling desperate.  All right, I’ll bring it.  Don’t make a habit of this, though.”

“Ooh, grab my portable movie player too,” said Haden.  “That’s also in my drawer.”

“Ancestors help me,” sighed the lishere.  “It’s like having a child.”

“Hey, I could be stuck in here for a while,” reminded Haden.  “Cut me a little slack.”

Glaive’s voice gentled a bit with sympathy.  “I know.  Just persevere as best you can.  With any luck, this will all be over with soon and it will end favorably for us.”

Haden detected the lingering guilt in his partner’s voice and he sighed again.  “Stop doing that to yourself.  You’re not responsible for this maniac’s choice to get to you through me, okay?”

"You can keep reminding me of that fact,” answered Glaive in an uncommonly humble tone, “but I’m afraid the guilt will cling like kudzu, until I’ve dealt with this threat once and for all.  I’ll be there shortly with your things, Haden.”

* * *

 

"And here we have pork rinds."

Haden wrinkled his nose as he took the bag from his partner.  Glaive noticed the expression and he frowned at him.  “What?  You _like_ pork rinds.”

"No, I like pork _crackling_ ,” corrected Haden with a chuckle, turning the bag in his hands.  “This is like…dehydrated skin with some seasoning tossed on it.  Thanks anyway, man.”

Glaive sighed and leaned against a basin.  “Then I hope the sandwich, jerky and cheese puffs are enough, for now.  The cafeteria’s closed and this was the best I could do.  I just hope the sandwiches in that refrigerated snack bar were put in today.”

Haden checked the wrapped sandwich and nodded in approval.  “Pimento cheese…yummy.  Thanks, Glaive.”

The lishere cracked a smile at him and for a moment, Haden just stared at the curve of those velvety lips.  “I love it when you smile.”

"Do you, now?"  Glaive’s coral eyes became heavy-lidded with intrigue.  "It’s a shame we can’t risk passing the time in a more…distracting way."

Haden paused in unwrapping his sandwich, looking up at the other man from his cross-legged position on the floor.  “Yeah?” 

He scanned Glaive again letting his gaze linger on the leather-encased legs, the lean hips and the toned, bronze arms.  The lishere was wearing his favorite style today; an ensemble composed of leather, mesh and spikes.  Knives were sheathed at his thighs, as well as a gun.  The straps around his biceps housed an array of tiny darts tipped with a paralyzing agent, and the thick-heeled boots on his feet had steel toes.  The silver-white hair practically shimmered like silk under the artificial light, falling down his back in the long ponytail.  Dangerous and sexy at once, he was a treat to the eyes.

Haden put the sandwich down next to the other snacks, forgetting his hunger for food.  He got up off the floor and he closed in on his smirking companion and he put his hands on his waist.

"What did you have in mind?"

Glaive braced his hands against the basin and held Haden’s gaze with his own.  “I owe you, mate.  Right now, however, I can’t deliver on that.  If I act on my urges, I could get us both killed with the distraction.  Best to wait until we’ve taken care of this threat.”

Haden grimaced.  “Tease.”

* * *

 

"I’d estimate we have ‘round and hour, before our ‘friend’ reaches Valkyrie Falls," predicted Vurkanan, his silvery eyes following the dot of light on his map.  He glanced up at his companions.  "I’d suggest you make any last moment preparations now, Director Ammiteo."

Ammiteo nodded, glancing at Zevian before adjusting his headpiece and contacting his Knight associate.  “Kent, the system is being primed.  ETA for engagement is approximately an hour.”

He listened for the answer before giving Vurkanan a nod.  “His people are ready.”

"Mayhap I should join the Ulvari lads," suggested Aurora thoughtfully after downing what remained of her third shot.  "I may not have their formal training, but I’ve been around a corner or two in my life and I’ve had a row with Sandman’s underlings before."

"I thought you wanted to stay in here with us?" Azurel asked, looking up from his media device at her. 

Vurkanan smirked at the slender lashran woman.  “Aurora is spoiling for a fight, isn’t she?”

She smirked back at him, adjusting her wrist attachments.  “That, she is.  I’m not one to sit idly waiting, but you know that.”

Ammiteo didn’t look particularly thrilled.  “Mrs. Darshaw, this department will be responsible if something happens to you.  I’m not sure I’m comfortable allowing you to go off to join the forward strike teams.”

"Your original plan _was_ to stay here and protect your man,” Zevian reminded her.  He stood at the window, looking out at the evening cityscape.  He turned his head to regard her with unreadable aqua eyes.  “Maybe you should stick with that for now, Star.”

"First and foremost, Vurk is my brother-in-law, _not_ my ‘man’,” she corrected with a grimace.  “All affection aside, I’ve no interest in what would amount to incest, in my eyes.”

"Nor I," agreed Vurkanan with an equally disturbed grimace.

Zevian chuckled and spread his hands.  “Take it easy; I just meant you two are tight.  I call my associate’s ‘my men’ too, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean we’re fucking.  Either way, the original plan was to stick close to his side, wasn’t it?”

"Aye," she agreed with a sigh.  She gave the beautiful sorcerer a sidelong, rueful grin.  "So I guess you’re stuck with me for now, Vurk."

Vurkanan shrugged.  “Aren’t I always?”

"So then you’ll remain in here for now?" prompted Ammiteo, relaxing a bit.

"For now," she agreed, "if only to ensure that bastard can’t get to Vurkanan, when he arrives."

The blare of security alarms interrupted whatever Ammiteo would have said in response to that.  He frowned severely and adjusted his transmitter.  “Talk to me, Kent.  What’s happened?”  He listened to the response and his gaze slid to Vurkanan.  “But we’ve already confirmed that the target hasn’t reached Valkyrie Falls, yet.  How can that be?”

Azurel stood up slowly, his fey-like countenance betraying dread.  His lover approached his side and put an arm around him, watching Ammiteo with curious, intense aqua eyes. 

"I see," answered Ammiteo after hearing his associate’s response.  "Then we’d best keep our people doubly sharp, until we have confirmation that this is a false alarm." 

Ammiteo ended his communication and gave his companions a grim look as he tuned his transmitter to the frequency assigned to the defensive teams.  “We’ve possibly suffered a breach in security,” he explained.  “One of the security guards reported a ‘disturbance’ in the garage level, before he dropped out of communication.  There’s been no response from that sector since, and it’s assumed that the men guarding it are all compromised.  A team of Knights and Bargel are going to investigate, now.”

Azurel looked at the map, his ruby gaze settling on the flickering wisp of light that represented Tsyther.  It still hadn’t quite made it into city boundaries yet, according to the magical tracking.  “Surely there’s been a mistake.”

"My old man has people all over the place," reminded Zevian cryptically.  "And it would be just like him to send in the pawns first.  Tell your people not to let their guard down, Director."

Ammiteo nodded, not even having to be told.  He finished tuning the frequency and he spoke with brisk authority as he addressed his agents.  “This is a code green, people.  Don’t jump at shadows, but stay alert.  We’ve already seen these people demonstrate that walls and locked doors aren’t going to stop them for long.  Until our security is fully back online, we’ll have to rely on manpower and watch out for each other.  There’s no room for dissension in the ranks.  I don’t want to hear about anyone trying to be a hero.  Work with your assigned teams and stick to protocol.  Further instructions will be given when we have more information.  Agent Sanders, what is the status of our network?  I see.  Just do your best and keep us informed if there are any changes.  Over and out.”

Ammiteo regarded his guests as he finished.  “They’re still working on bringing major security systems back online, but Sanders believes he’s quarantined the infection that compromised it in the first place.”

"Let me see if I understand this correctly," Vurkanan said with a frown of concentration.  "You initially staged a breech in this computer network of yours as a lure, but in doing so you opened up a vulnerability to some malevolent force that was lying in wait?"

"That’s correct," answered Ammiteo.  "Someone planted a logic bomb at some point, which was programmed to go off in the event of a system vulnerability.  It attacked our network the way the flu attacks a human or lashran body; weakening it and compromising its ability to function properly.  That’s about the extent of my ability to explain it, I’m afraid.  I’m no computer expert."

"But they’ve got it contained now," reasoned Azurel, "So it can’t do any more harm, right?"

"I’m more concerned about the fact that it was there to begin with," insisted Vurkanan, his pale, brooding gaze on Ammiteo.  "You said it was ‘sleeping’ in the system, so who _put_ it there?”

"We don’t know," admitted the director flatly.  "We’ve gone over this place with a fine-toothed comb and performed every test possible on each agent involved in this operation.  Every maintenance person allowed access to the mainframe over the past year has been thoroughly interrogated, and there’s no evidence of tampering.  Agent Sanders seems to believe the virus was contracted from outside the network, rather than from within.  Blackbird said that during his captivity, Tsyther alluded to having someone hack us.  Unfortunately, he never went into details, so we’re operating under assumptions based on what few facts we have available to us."

"It could have been an inside job," said Aurora.  "Sabotage from one of your own people."

"I’m trying not to think about that possibility, right now," sighed Ammiteo.  "The damage is done and we have other things to worry about."

She nodded.  “True enough.”

* * *

 

"Man, I’m not liking this," muttered Sanders.  "Shouldn’t have left Terry to do the hacking alone."

Lily rolled her eyes at him, before speaking in an equally low voice.  “You’ve gotten _way_ too attached to that mainframe.  Stop being so jealous.  She’s just as capable of repairing the network as you are.”

"That’s not why I’m worried," insisted the Ocathian.  "It’s because she’s alone in there.  Sandman knows this place now and you can bet his gimps do, too.  They might be able to tell if she starts bringing things back online and they could go after her to put a stop to it."

Agent McFarlane paused, as did the two Bargel accompanying them.  “I…hadn’t considered that.”

"That control room has been warded," reminded Agent Winfield.  He gave a nod at his partner, his brown eyes solemn and confident.  "Rose’s wards are the best you can ask for.  Not even spirit singers can breech them right away."

"And how many spirit singers have you tested that against?" demanded Malcolm.  He gave an apologetic shrug to the flaxen-haired woman in red.  "No offense."

"None taken," she assured with a cool nod.  "You’re right; I haven’t had the opportunity for thorough testing…yet.  I have the feeling I’ll be putting my wards to the test before this night is finished, though.  As if it isn’t bad enough to be put up against spirit singers in the first place, we’re dealing with rogues.  They won’t follow the rules of their officially trained brethren."

They quieted down as they approached the corridor leading to the garage entrance, but Lily couldn’t resist whispering a nervous observation.  “It isn’t even like we’re up against men.  We’ve seen what these guys can do and they’re more like…like…”

"Ghosts," finished Malcolm for her.  He pressed the transmitter button on his headset and spoke softly into it.  "This is Agent Sanders.  We’re approaching the hot zone.  There’s no sign of any of our people nearby, so far."

"You have a go to proceed," Kent answered.  "Watch yourselves, and keep us informed."

* * *

 

The lingering tendrils of darkness hovering in the air made the already wary group even more ill at ease.  They stopped talking aloud altogether and the two sorcerers placed a cloaking spell over them all, in an attempt to avoid detection if there were enemies present.  Malcolm led the way and though they were now invisible to the naked eye, there was no way to get into the garage without opening the door.  Wincing at the possibility that the action would alert enemies to their presence, Malcolm pulled the door open and motioned his companions to hurry.  They hustled in with their respective weapons of choice ready, unsure of what to expect.  Lily nudged her fellow knight with her elbow once they were in the garage, and she indicated off to the left when she had his attention.

There, lying facedown in a pool of blood next to an agency car was one of the security guards assigned to the garage.  Malcolm glanced at his companions and pointed at his eyes, then at them.  Lily nodded and lifted her gun, prepared to cover him while he went in.  Beside her, Rose had one hand on the amulet around her throat and the other on a pouch at her belt.  Sebastian held a crystal in one hand and he nodded at Malcolm to let him know he was ready.

Perhaps not as stealthily as an Ulvari but nonetheless whisper-quiet, Malcolm crept forward with his favorite cutlass drawn in one hand and a gun in the other.  Ordinarily, he preferred to use his fists and the blade, but the added security of the firearm was nothing to scoff at, under circumstances like this.  He reached the fallen guard and he sighed, recognizing the still, blank features of the young victim.  He was a low-ranking member of the Order, but he’d had potential to rise through the ranks quickly.  Now he’d never do that.  He was good and dead.

Malcolm looked back at Agent McFarlane and he shook his head negatively.  She briefly lowered her eyes in a silent gesture of respect and she mouthed a silent prayer.  Seeing as there was nothing he could do for the victim, Malcolm avoided disturbing the body or stepping in the blood.  The masking spell wouldn’t do him any good if he left bloody footprints in his wake.  He began to search the area for signs of the other guards, knowing there had been five in total assigned to watch the sector.  He found them a few feet away, between an armored transport vehicle and a cruiser.  He felt his gorge rise and he quickly turned away and hurried back to his waiting companions.

Seeing the ashen tone his dusky features had taken on, Lily gave him an alarmed, questioning look.  Malcolm shook his head and pointed at the doors, casting a wary look around.  “Get the fuck out of here,” he mouthed.

* * *

 

"Sanders, reporting in," said the unsteady masculine voice over the communications frequency.  "We found the missing security team."

"What’s their status?" asked Kent.

"They’re in pieces," answered the agent.  "I mean that _literally_ , boss.  We got the hell out of dodge as soon as we found ‘em, because I don’t know how many guys did this to them.  We’ve barricaded the entrance to the garage on this floor, but other floors have access to it too and I think we’ll need backup to deal with whoever did this.”

Having finally put on his own communication gear as advised by Ammiteo, Zevian frowned at the information he was hearing.  He looked at the Ulvari director and he turned down the volume of his transmitter as Kent organized more teams to seal off all access to the garage.

"You know that won’t stop them, right?" Zevian reminded.  "Sandman trains his people vigorously and he’s probably put his best underlings on this.  They’ll find other ways to get where they’re going, no matter how you block their way."

"What else would you have us do?"  Ammiteo’s chiseled features were hard with anger and frustration.

"I’m just trying to keep it real," Zevian answered, spreading his hands.  "You knew this would get messy, Director.  You’re going to lose people tonight, and there’s no getting around that."

Still holding Zevian’s gaze, Ammiteo gave his instructions to his waiting Ulvari.  “I want agents Vandrin and Lunvas to secure the control room and back up Agent Little.  I want two teams to assist with blocking off compromised sectors, and the rest are to stay at their posts until otherwise notified.”

When he finished giving his instructions, the director addressed Zevian again.  “What else can we expect, besides the dismemberment of our people?”

Zevian sighed and rubbed the bride of his nose between a thumb and forefinger.  “You already know what Tsyther’s main goal is.  This is a distraction.  While you’re busy fighting off his pet killers, Sandman will slip in and go after Agent Wolfe.  I’m sure your agent Glaive will back me up on this, if you ask him.  I’d say the one advantage you have in this is that two of us know the bastard well enough to have a rough guess of what he’s going to do next.”

"Then I’d better contact Agent Glaive and get his input."  Ammiteo looked at the map on the floor, and Vurkanan nodded when his eyes met his.

"Yes, he should be here soon," confirmed the sorcerer.  "I’d estimate within the next half hour, going by the movement of the tracking wisp."

Ammiteo wasted no time in contacting Glaive.

* * *

 

"I’m staying right here with my partner," Glaive informed the director after discussing the situation with him.  

"Your skills could be useful in containing this situation," reminded Ammiteo—not exactly arguing with him.

"I’m aware of that, Sir."  Glaive’s pink gaze went to Haden, who was silently listening to the exchange whilst inspecting his guns.  "If I go out there and join them in this fight, it’s going to leave Haden open to possible attack.  I’ve considered it and we both know that if Sandman finds Haden, I’ve got the best chance of stopping him of anyone else here.  I agree with Saber; these animals are doing this for one reason only; to help their master get to his target faster.  I don’t intend to play by his rules."

"Then I won’t pull rank on you and attempt to force you to go against your instincts.  Ancestors know, you and Saber are the only ones capable of remotely predicting this man’s actions.  I’ll remind you though that you have a significant part to play in this apprehension attempt."

"I know, and I’m prepared to confront him if we can manage to box him in," assured Glaive, "but for now, I’m staying by Wolfe’s side.  Should Sandman find his way to him, our confrontation will just happen that much sooner."

"We’ll try it your way," answered Ammiteo, "for now."

* * *

 

After Glaive finished speaking with Ammiteo, he looked at his partner and sighed.  “Would you stop looking like a kicked puppy, Haden?  This is our best option, believe me.”

"I know," admitted the augmented man sullenly, "but our friends are out there fighting, and I wish we could be with them.  I’ve never felt so useless in my life."

"Friends?" Glaive smirked.  "Perhaps yours, but not mine.  As far as I’m concerned, most of those people can get fucked."

Haden looked up from the floor at him, his lupine eyes expressive with angst.

"Oh, all right," sighed Glaive.  "I suppose I don’t want them dead or injured, after all.  Some of them have been almost decent toward me, lately."

Haden smiled faintly and nodded.  “Like it or not, we’re kind of a family.  Brothers and sisters don’t always get along, but they stick up for each other when it counts.  They’re all out there risking their butts for me, while I cower in here.”

"I understand how it rankles you and offends your sense of honor to be in this situation," comforted Glaive, "but if you try to go out there and join them now, you may as well paint a bulls-eye on your ass.  This is tactical sense, not cowardice."

"I know," muttered Haden, "at least, my head knows that."

"And that’s the part we’re going to listen to," insisted Glaive, "because it’s going to keep you alive."

An explosion shook the building then, from somewhere above their floor.  Bits of plaster fell down from the ceiling and both men hastily dove under the counters by the sinks.  Haden peered up nervously as the tremors died off.

"What the hell is going on up there?"

Glaive shook his head, also looking up at the cracked ceiling.  “I don’t know, mate, but my guess would be someone either got a little grenade happy, or our uninvited guests have encountered our Bargel allies.”

A second, smaller explosion caused more fine cracks to appear in the ceiling, and Haden winced. “I hope those guys take it easy with the elemental stuff.  They could end up burying us if they cut loose.”

"Even if our allies have a care not to go overboard, Sandman’s people aren’t going to extend that courtesy."  Glaive absently produced a spark of electricity in his right hand, and it jumped between his fingers almost playfully.  "Need I remind you that spirit singers have a direct link to elemental forces, as well?"

"Yeah, I keep forgetting about that."  Haden watched the dancing sparks with visible discomfort.  "Who do you think would win in a contest, though…an elementalist sorcerer or a spirit singer?"

Glaive shrugged.  “It would depend on the level of skill of both opponents.  I imagine Vurkanan would make quick work of most anyone he went up against in a test of elemental destruction, but Tsyther is another matter.”

"I hope we don’t have to find out," Haden sighed.  "I’d hate to see something happen to him."

Glaive nodded.  “Me too.”

* * *

 

Zevian caught Azurel around the waist to help steady him as the second explosion went off downstairs.  Through his comm. Device, he could hear reports of what was happening and his eyes met Ammiteo’s across the room, sharing dread.

"Agent Winfield is down," reported Agent McFarlane, "along with five other men—not including the security team from the garage.  They’ve got us in a bottleneck and we need backup.  _Repeat: We need—_ ”

The young woman’s voice was abruptly cut off with a choked cry, and over the sound of gunfire and the roar of flames, Malcolm’s yell of denial left little doubt to her fate.

Ammiteo didn’t waste any time.  “I want a full team of agents to move in on Sanders’ and Rose’s location, fully armed and equipped with body armor.” 

Meanwhile, Kent was giving similar orders—and he’d decided to join the rescue team himself, rather than stay in the background to direct his people. 

"Don’t get any ideas," Zevian warned when Ammiteo looked as though he might take a page from the human director’s book.  "If he goes down, you’re all the glue we’ve got left to hold these groups together.  Someone with coordination skills needs to stick around, Ammiteo.  Your Agent Glaive is good at his job, but he’s not the leader you are."

Ammiteo grimaced with frustration.  “Maybe I should let _you_ take over.  You have a clearer picture of the situation than I do.”

Unsure if he was kidding or not, Zevian shook his head and smirked.  “They’d never take orders from the likes of me.  It would be like trying to herd cats.  You and Kent are the ones they respect the most and if you think this is getting too out of hand, maybe you ought to rethink your decision not to involve other branches in this.  You could end this with a phone call, if you do it fast enough.”

Ammiteo took a deep breath and shut his eyes.  “That phone call has already been made, Mr. Saber.  We couldn’t let absolutely everyone in the facilities in on the truth of what’s happening here tonight, and I’ve already received a report that some of the people on the lower levels called the Glass Haven branch for aid, when it was confirmed that we’ve been compromised.  All we have to do is hold the enemy off and keep them from reaching Wolfe, until our allies arrive.”

"Let go of your pride," advised Vurkanan.  "You did your best to handle this with the resources available to you, and there’s no shame in accepting aid."

"But when they arrive, Tsyther and his clowns will be forced to retreat," guessed Aurora with a thoughtful look Ammiteo’s way, "and the manhunt will have to start all over again."

Ammiteo nodded, opening his eyes again.  “That’s right.  This wasn’t just about proving our mettle; this was our opportunity to finally apprehend this man.  If we fail to do that before backup comes, we’re back to square one.”

 ”I understand.”  Vurkanan nodded.  He exchanged a look with his female companion.  “And I think we’re in agreement that we don’t want that to happen, either.  If Tsyther goes free, he’ll come for Haden again.”

She nodded and she drew the pistols holstered at her thighs.  “Then what are we doing sitting in here, Vurk?”

He looked down at the map again.  “Aye, we’ve done all we can in here.  I would attempt another divination with a building schematic, but chances are I won’t succeed before Sandman is inside, tearing through the ranks.”

"What are you going to do?" Ammiteo demanded as they both started for the door. 

Aurora paused and half-turned to shoot a fey little grin his way.  “What we do best, lad.  What we do best.  Our talents are better spent elsewhere, now.  We may even be able to save some lives.  You just stay put and keep your people in order.”

* * *

 

"Lily, you hold on, girl!" 

The knife had been thrown by the sire with the short blond hair with astonishing accuracy and force, piercing the young woman’s unprotected throat just above the clavicle.  Malcolm held her helplessly as she choked on her own blood, while Rose and the remaining Knight agents provided cover.  Half of them were unconscious on the floor, put to sleep by the insidious spirit singing powers they were assaulted with.  The others had been shielded by Glaive and Zevian.  When the attacking spirit singers realized some of their targets were immune to their lulling attempts, they decided to use more brutal tactics. 

They never held still long enough for anyone to get a clear shot at them, seeming to shift in and out of the material plane like phantoms.  Malcolm had counted four of them so far, but even that small number was enough to decimate the ranks and put them in dire straits.  Rose was giving as good as she got, while maintaining a protective bubble around herself and her allies.  Her partner lay in an unfortunate heap at her feet, his dark eyes blank and staring in death.  He’d been the first to go in their group.  One of Tsyther’s people manifested behind him while they were trying to secure the garage entrance on their level, and he broke his neck with a cruel, violent twist before Sebastian could even cry out. 

Everything went to hell, after that.  More of them materialized around the team and with a simple gesture, they took half of them out of the fight.  The others they simply killed, until Rose went into action.  In her grief and fury, she probably saved the rest of them from sharing their allies’ fate.  Seeing Agent Winfield go down prompted her to retaliate with both figurative barrels, conjuring elemental forces with a vengeance.  It wasn’t her specialty, but in her emotional state she was able to raise the bar and the sprinkler system was now active on the floor as a result of her fiery vengeance. 

"Keep ‘em busy," urged Malcolm as he tried to decide whether to try and remove the knife from his companion’s throat or not.

"I don’t know how long my shield will hold," admitted Rose with bared teeth. 

She slammed one of the attackers up against the wall with a gust of wind, followed quickly by a bolt of electricity that he couldn’t avoid.  There was a smell of burnt hair and ozone as the spirit singer fell to the floor, twitching.  One of his companions retaliated with a jet of flame.  It struck the scintillating bubble of force surrounding the trapped group of agents, and Rose shook her head grimly as the shield flickered.

"We’re running out of time!"

"Not anymore," called a familiar voice, and more gunfire rattled off in the corridor, forcing the attackers to take cover and opening a path. 

Malcolm looked up to see a group of his brethren hurrying toward them, with Director Kent in the lead.  The emergency lighting system flickered and went out briefly, plunging them into heart-stopping darkness.  His first thought was that the enemy managed to take out their backup power too, and he started to reach for his night vision goggles.  The lights came on before his bloodied fingers could even pull the device out of his cargo pants…and they were the _main_ lights.  He could hear automated doors shutting and he heard a blessed report from Agent Little over the transmitter.

"The network is back online," she reported, "and I have full access to the camera and bio scan system!  Guys, the four attacking your group aren’t the only intruders.  I’m picking up six…no… _eight_ more unregistered signatures on various levels, including…oh, shit.”

"What’s your status, agent?" Kent demanded grimly, his eyes scanning the area.  He took a shot at one of their enemies that dared to try and move in on the group, failing to hit him but succeeding in making him rethink his plan and back off.

"We’ve got a couple of them right outside the door to the control room," answered Little.  "And by the looks of it, they’re breaking down the wards.  I don’t know how much longer we have before they get to us, in here."

"This is Star," said a different female voice over the frequency.  "Shard and I are on our way to the control room, and we’ll give the bastards something new to worry about."

"Agent Little, where are the other intruders heading?" Ammiteo asked.

It took a moment for her to answer.  “Five of them are heading your way.  Dammit, they’ve already taken out the guards in the inner fire escape route.  The other one’s broken off from the rest, and he’s moving _up_.  I can’t get a clear signal on him.  Oh…uh…we have a problem.”

"What _sort_ of problem?”  Kent’s eyes were on Lily, who was being looked after by two medically trained agents he’d brought with him in the rescue group.

"The signal’s being scrambled," Vandrin’s voice answered for her.  "Just like that time when Sandman went after Dr. Adder."

"Then that single signal must be our main target," reasoned Ammiteo.  "I was afraid something like this would happen, even if we got our systems back online."

"It’s no good," Terry said in a tense, frustrated tone.  "I can’t get a lock on him now, and the camera feed is screwed, too.  We’re blind again, Directors."

* * *

 

Vandrin and Lunvas stood tense and ready for the enemy to break through the door.  While they stood guard with weapons ready, the small human woman sitting at the mainframe worked furiously to unscramble scanners and security feeds.

"It’s like the bastard is emitting some kind of magnetic field or sonar that’s interfering with our equipment," Terry informed them.  "I really don’t think I can fix this."

Lunvas looked at Vandrin grimly.  “Our people have their hands full with the groups that have already infiltrated the building.  This could end badly.”

"I’m sure we can handle two guys," insisted Vandrin.  "They shielded us so the little nap-time trick won’t work, and we’re Ulvari agents.  Let’s prove that means something."

"I never got shielded," Agent Little said with a nervous look at the door.

"Then you’d better get down behind the equipment and stay low," suggested Vandrin.  He clicked the safety off of his pistols when something struck the door from the other side.  "At least then you won’t have far to fall if they put you to sleep."

Her gaze went to the monitors.  “They didn’t put any of those agents in the garage or fire escape to sleep.  They just killed them.”

It was a grim reminder that they were dealing with completely unpredictable opponents, and that was frankly terrifying, considering the things they could do.  Lunvas did his best to comfort the young woman, looking at her with determined gray eyes.  “I promise you, they’ll only get to you over our dead bodies.”

Vandrin gave him a hairy eyeball in response to that statement, and the blond sire returned his stare expectantly, until he sighed and nodded in agreement.  “Yeah, since you’re not a field agent, we’ll defend you.  Just stay down until it’s safe.”

* * *

 

As it turned out, they didn’t need to lay down their lives to defend the non-combat operative.  Aurora and Vurkanan arrived before the two spirit singers could get the door open, and the former took advantage of their distraction.  Just as one of the invaders was applying an adhesive explosive to the door to blast it open, Aurora blew a hole in his hand.  The sticky bomb fell to the floor as the sire howled and clutched at his injury with surprise.  His companion reacted immediately to the attack, hitting the lashran woman with a gust of wind that slammed her against the wall.  Vurkanan stepped in front of her and he conjured a wall of invisible force to repel the next attack.

Both of the invaders tried to lull their new opponents’ spirits to sleep, but they found them shielded like some of the other operatives they had encountered already.  The uninjured one conjured a fireball and lobbed it at Vurkanan.  He narrowed his eyes and held his wall steady as it struck, sending a blast of heat around him and Aurora.

"Not bad," he complimented, his eyes glittering as he began the make arcane gestures.  "Would you like to see one of mine, now?"

"Oh hells, Vurk," sighed Aurora as the sorcerer began to gather energy.  Knowing what was coming, she curled up against the wall defensively, covering her head.

Vurkanan didn’t just create a ball of fire; he conjured a combination of two elements, to create what basically amounted to a small meteor.  The spirit singer evidently realized he could never hope to deflect or banish the pyroclastic projectile hurtling through the corridor at him, and he tried to take evasive action. 

He wasn’t fast enough.

* * *

 

"What in the _hell_?”  Haden made a blind grab for his partner as the latest explosion shook the building. 

"Watch the goods, mate," grunted the lishere in protest, grabbing Haden’s wrist.

Realizing that he’d just groped the other man’s crotch, Haden flushed and apologized, hoping he hadn’t squeezed too hard.  “Sorry man.  I wasn’t paying attention to what I was reaching for.  Did I hurt you?”

"Not quite," answered Glaive, easing the knight’s hand away from his package, "but any harder and you _could_ have.”

The noise died down and they could faintly hear sirens in the distance.  Haden frowned, unsurprised but concerned.  “If regular law enforcement gets involved in this, it’s going to make things more complicated.”

Glaive nodded, his eyes on the cracks in the ceiling.  “I was hoping the noise from this situation wouldn’t attract their attention too soon, but that last one sounded like something heavy landed outside.  I’d be interested to know how much of the upper floors are still intact.”

"Sandman and his buddies are really hitting us hard."  Haden sighed, his thoughts going to Lily and the others that had fallen, so far.  Last he’d heard, they had her stabilized and were moving her to a secure room to be cared for, but the injury was severe. 

"I was picturing something a lot more subtle," Haden went on, feeling his partner’s coral gaze on him.  He stared at the bathroom floor tiles, eaten up inside with guilt.  "I didn’t expect it to turn into a war zone.  I expected him and his cronies to sneak in and try to find me without a lot of confrontations."

"Honestly Haden, I was prepared for something like that too," answered Glaive.  "But I should have known better than to expect a pattern from him."

"We’ve got to get up there and help," decided Haden.  "Don’t look at me that way, Glaive.  I’ve been thinking about it, and I can put on some combat gear to hide my face from the enemy. I just can’t stay holed up down here any longer…not when our friends are dying."

Glaive considered him with troubled eyes and Haden knew he was struggling.  “Glaive, I put them in this position with my plan.  I have to help.  Besides, how are you supposed to do your part in this if you’re stuck in the Ladies’ room with me?  You’re supposed to be the one to take him down, if Saber can weaken his defenses.”

The lishere finally sighed.  “Fine.  We’ll both put on the headgear so that we can’t be easily recognized when we join the fighting.  If you die on me, I swear to the ancestors I’ll never let your spirit rest in peace.”

Haden forced a smile, his pale eyes and youthful face betraying relief.  “Let’s go.” 

* * *

 

Everyone within three blocks heard it when the fireball slammed into the hapless man and kept going, punching a hole through the wall of the building.  The fireball and its victim took out a taxi cab as they crashed to the street below.  Car alarms went off up and down the street and people passing by stopped driving or walking to investigate and shout questions.

Up on the third floor of the Alliance Headquarters, Vurkanan Darshaw stared at the jagged hole in the back wall and he winced.  “That’s going to cost me.”  The sprinklers went off, adding insult to injury as they soaked his lustrous silver hair.

"Worry about your overkill later," insisted Aurora with a grunt, getting to her feet.  She drew her gun on the remaining spirit singer and gave him a warning look.  "If you so much as blink, I’ll shoot you dead in the eye."

Bewildered by what he’d just witnessed and the pain of his injury, the young, silver-haired sire didn’t resist.  Aurora approached him and without warning, she pistol-whipped him upside the back of the head.  Not even spirit singers were immune to a heavy blow to the cranium, and he crumpled.  She nodded in satisfaction and grimaced as she rotated her shoulder, and then she knocked on the door to the control room.

"You can open up now and let us in.  We’ve taken care of them and we’ve got a prisoner."

"Slide some ID under the door," called a masculine voice from the other side.

Aurora rolled her eyes.  “I don’t _have_ any bloody ID!”

"I do," said Vurkanan.  He dug a thin wallet out of a pocket and he slid it under the door as requested, calling out to the people behind it.  "You’d better not tarry for long.  They seemed fairly determined to get in there and we have no way of knowing how many more could be on their way."

The door opened and Vandrin looked out at them.  His eyes widened when he saw the gaping hole in the wall across the hallway.  “What in the hell happened?”

"An unfortunate collision involving a fool and a fireball," answered Vurkanan.  "More importantly, is Agent Wolfe still secure?"

"As far as we know, yes."  Vandrin bent over and picked up the unconscious spirit singer, while Lunvas got a pair of cuffs ready.  "Are cuffs going to hold this guy?  An Ulvari could get out of them and I’m pretty sure a spirit singer can, too."

"Then keep a sharp eye on him and knock him out again at the first sign of movement," suggested Aurora.  "Or just put a bullet in his head and be done with it.  We can’t put this man in the holding cells right now and everyone else is caught up in trying to secure this place again."

Vandrin looked like he was sorely tempted to save himself the trouble and just shoot him, but morality apparently won out.  “Damn it…not even _I_ could justify killing a helpless prisoner…unless it was Sandman himself.  Lunvas, you and Little help me out.  We’ve got to bind this guy up tighter than a mummy and keep him gagged and blindfolded.”

Once they were in the control room, Vurkanan began to put up wards on the door again.  As he worked, Aurora helped the agents secure the prisoner and she asked about the situation so far.  “I know a few more have shown up since your equipment started going to pot,” she said, “but I’m more interested in the one you said split away from the rest of the groups.  You said he was traveling up in the building, didn’t you?  Not down.”

"That’s right," agreed Terry.  She tucked a lock of light brown hair behind her ear and she began to bandage the prisoner’s injured hand as best she could with the first aid kit.  "I had trouble pinpointing his signature even before the interference started, but he was definitely moving up.  There haven’t been any actual sightings of the main suspect since this started, though."

"No, there wouldn’t be," guessed Vurkanan.  "He’s notorious for moving around undetected and being seen only when he _wants_ to be seen.  If the intruder you detected was Sandman—and I suspect he was—then odds are he’s on his way to the accommodation suites.  Provided our ruse worked, he likely believes they haven’t had the opportunity to move Agent Wolfe to a safer location.”

"And since he hasn’t been amongst the agents defending these facilities, it would make sense for them to assume he’s hiding away somewhere," said Aurora.  "They’ve been searching this place for him while they commit their carnage, no doubt.  I’m sure Tsyther’s offering a handsome reward to whichever drone manages to track him down."

"So we can assume he’s upstairs searching the living quarters," Lunvas said with a glance at the ceiling.  He contacted his superior through his transmitter.  "Director, we believe Sandman may be on the floor beneath you."

"But you can’t confirm that with scanners or monitors?" guessed Ammiteo. 

"I’ll get back on it, Sir," Agent Little promised.  "I should warn you I may not succeed if Sandman is directly causing this interference, but I’ll still give it my best shot."

"Do what you can," answered Ammiteo.  "Kent and his teams are still holding their own.  Stay in that control room until otherwise instructed.  Even without the monitoring system working, if we lose that mainframe we lose control of all other security functions.  Don’t let that happen."

"Yes Sir," agreed Terry.

Vurkanan spoke into his transmitter.  “Star and I are with them, Director.  So long as Agent Wolfe remains safe, we’ll stay here to assist with the defense of this room.”

"Good, I appreciate your cooperation.  Keep me informed and I’ll do the same for you."    

* * *

 

The first thing Haden did when he and Glaive joined Kent’s team at the first perimeter on the second floor was to approach Malcolm and ask about their injured comrade.  “Hey Sanders, how’s Lily doing?”

When Malcolm recognized his voice, he turned and looked at Haden with alarm.  “Are you fucking _crazy_?  You’re supposed to be out of sight, man!”

"Hello, I’m wearing a raid mask," Haden said, pointing at his covered face.  "So is Glaive.  I know Sandman’s got some pretty impressive skills, but he can’t see through clothes.  I’m here to help.  Now how is Lily?"

Malcolm reloaded his gun and shook his head.  “It’s not looking good.  We need to get her to a hospital and into surgery.”

Haden’s eyes flashed behind the visor, and he looked out at the mess of the corridor.  The sprinkler systems were still going and there were smoldering chunks of debris scattered everywhere, as well as shattered glass from some of the nearby administration rooms.  “Then let’s take these guys out.”

"We got two of them so far," Malcolm said with a gesture at two black-clad lashran bodies lying on the other side of the barricade.  "Not sure how many others are left on this floor.  We’ve estimated that there’s three, but it’s hard to keep track of the bastards when they keep phasing out like that."

The whole thing was a testament of how powerful spirit singers were.  The Valkyrie Falls branch still fell behind in terms of coordination, but it was doubtful that a more organized branch of the alliance could have done much better against these people.  There was a reason why those with the gift were generally required to register and train with the Spirit Keepers.  The madness of Tsyther was evidence of that.

Kent was shouting orders and Haden started to comply when he called out for him to move to another position and cover one of the Bargel, but Glaive grabbed his arm before he could go.

"I have to leave."

Haden stared at him.  All he could see of his features was his chin and mouth, beneath the protective helmet.  “What do you mean?  We just got here.”

Rather than answer out loud, Glaive spoke into his mind. 

_~Ammiteo just contacted me on the private channel.  He thinks Sandman might be in the living quarters wing, searching for you while all of this chaos is going on.  We may be able to pull this off, after all.  He knows he’s running out of time on this and he knows the agency will tighten security up and make changes after this event.  It’s time for me to do my part.~_

Haden felt a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of his partner going up against Sandman alone, again.  Sure, he survived the first encounter and Tsyther was the one that got messed up by it, but Haden had seen the hatred in the man’s eyes.  He’d seen rabid dogs look saner. 

"Glaive…man…I…"

The lishere smiled at him—an expression reserved for Haden alone.  “I can handle it, mate.  Just keep that headgear on and stay low.  If any of those wankers recognize you, the ruse really _will_ be blown and we’ll lose this chance.”

Haden was going to ask him how he planned to get all the way up to the fifth floor without being seen or caught in a confrontation, but he remembered that Glaive shared the ability of their “guests” to make himself appear to vanish in thin air.  He moved behind a group of agents so as not to make it obvious, and then he was gone.

"You!  I thought I told you to help cover that Bargel, over there!  Move your ass!"

Haden tried not to think about the danger Glaive was heading into, and he quickly moved to obey Kent’s orders.

* * *

 

"Where the hell are you going?"  Zevian frowned at Ammiteo as the director finished checking his guns and started for the door.

"I’m going to meet up with Agent Glaive on the floor beneath us," answered Ammiteo.  "We’ll contact you when it’s time to do your part, Saber."

Zevian narrowed his eyes at him, and he kept replaying those final moments with Urahis over in his mind.  Watching the life leave his eyes had been the most painful thing he had ever experienced, and despite his promise to his deceased mate, he couldn’t quite let it go.

"I’m coming with you."

"That isn’t the plan," answered Ammiteo, stopping to look back at him.  "The plan was for you to lie in wait until Sandman is in position.  We’ve agreed this will be a very short window, Mr. Saber, so we can’t afford to miss it."

"So far, not much of this has gone ‘according to plan’," reminded Zevian.  "And in the time it could take me to get downstairs to do my trick, you could both be dead."

That gave Ammiteo pause to hesitate.  He looked at his watch and he sighed.  “You’ve made a good argument, and you’re right; none of this has gone according to plan, except that we’ve successfully lured Tsyther here.  The toll has been heavy.”

"Then why tempt fate any further?" asked Zevian.  "Let me come with you.  My presence might even give him a reason to hesitate, and that could only help us out."

Ammiteo thought about it for a moment longer, and then he nodded.

"Zev…wait."

Zevian turned to regard his lover, who now stood between Therril and Johnny with an expression of angst on his face.  He approached Azurel and cupped his face in his hands.  “Hey, I’m not doing this to get myself killed, gorgeous.  I’m doing it because it’s got to be done, understand?  He’ll keep wrecking lives and killing innocent people, if we don’t stop him.”

"I know," answered the lifebearer in a tight voice.  "It’s just…I know you still want vengeance, too."

"Yeah, I want to see him go down," agreed Zevian, "one way or the other.  It doesn’t matter whether he ends up in a straight jacket or six feet under, just so he can’t fuck with people’s lives anymore.  I made a promise though, and I’m going to keep it, if I can.  I’ll come back to you."

Azurel shut his eyes and nodded, biting his lip.  Zevian lowered his mouth to his and gave him a lingering kiss, before pulling away and adjusting the sabers sheathed at his hips.  He looked at his men and nodded at them. 

"You keep him safe, no matter what."

Therril nodded.  “Of course, boss.”

Zevian turned to follow Ammiteo out the door, but the hairs on the back of his neck rose and his skin tingled with awareness.  He felt rather than heard a warning in his soul, and he knew Urahis was trying to tell him something.  He dropped his defenses enough to listen, and he looked at Ammiteo with wide eyes.  He felt it happening a split second before his sire began to materialize.

"Ammiteo, look out!"

The Ulvari reacted instantly, where most people might have turned to give him a questioning look.  Ammiteo rolled backwards and drew his gun just as Tsyther solidified before the door.  He fired at him twice, but Tsyther sensed the attack coming and he deflected the bullets with his sword.  Johnny and Therril opened fire on him as well, but Tsyther demonstrated his snake-like reflexes and what bullets he didn’t deflect, he dodged.  He made a sweeping gesture at the men in the room, and when they failed to fall to the floor asleep, he seemed to notice Zevian for the first time.

"Your doing, no doubt," observed Tsyther in his rough voice.  "But no matter.  Tell me where he is, son.  Do that for me, and I’ll call off my people and allow your companions to live."

Zevian didn’t answer with words.  He stared at that hated face and he drew both his swords.  “I’d rather dance.”  Inwardly, he hoped Glaive would hurry up and get there, even as a part of him wanted to try and take him out himself.

Sandman chuckled.  Ammiteo threw a knife at him at that moment, and it managed to knick him in the arm just before he jumped aside.  He frowned at the cut in the black sleeve, before glancing at the vibrating knife embedded into the wall behind him.  “Do you mind?  I’m having a conversation with my son.”

"Tsyther of Zarn," Ammiteo said, his violet gaze hard and cold on the spirit singer, "you’ve been accused of crimes against humanity and lashran.  If you cooperate with us, you’ll be given a fair trial.  If you choose to resist, I’ve been authorized to use lethal force."

"Do tell."  Tsyther shot another amused look at the knife, before his eyes settled on Ammiteo again.  "This is about your gorgeous lifebearer agent, isn’t it?  I don’t think you’d be satisfied to give me a fair trial, if I chose to cooperate.  I think you’d rather kill me."

"I’m a man of my word," insisted Ammiteo, "and of the law."

"Would you like to hear about how I made him moan, Director Ammiteo?  Your Agent Blackbird?"  Tsyther tilted his head to the side, grinning coldly at the bigger sire.  "He tried to fight it at first, but it didn’t take long to make him swollen and hot for me.  It’s a shame I didn’t get the chance to fuck him."

"You shut the hell up."  The vehement response didn’t come from Ammiteo, but from Zevian.  He attacked his sire then, both of his blades whirling with ferocity.  He was prepared for Tsyther’s blocks and parries, and he improvised by kicking out with one foot.  The blade he’d triggered on the toe of his boot slashed a cut in Tsyther’s leg and he was treated to a moment of satisfaction when he saw the surprise leak into those smooth features. 

"Enough," grunted Tsyther, and he retaliated. 

He wasn’t aiming to stab or cut, but to put Zevian on the defensive.  Familiar with the moves, the guild lord refused to back down and he finally saw a spark of anger in the other man’s eyes.  He felt the elemental attack coming, but he was still untrained in such things and he couldn’t stop it or counter it.  It felt like a solid hit directly to his solar plexus, and Zevian had time to wonder how anyone could make the wind hit that hard before he was kicked clear across the room to crash into Ammiteo’s desk.  He heard Azurel shout his name and then there was gunfire going off all around him.

"Azurel," groaned Zevian, "get out…run."

He heard Johnny yell in pain, and he looked up in time to see Therril’s throat get opened up by Tsyther’s blade.  He stared in disbelief as one of his oldest and most trustworthy employees fell to the floor, clutching at the fatal wound.  His eyes went blank in death as he toppled onto his side, seeming to stare at Zevian for a moment before awareness fled.  Growling a denial, Zevian struggled to get back to his feet, using the overturned desk for leverage.  He realized something was fractured or broken inside when he felt a sharp pain in his left side.

Johnny was sitting on the floor with a nasty cut in his leg, but he was alive and he kept shooting at Tsyther.  Azurel was trying to wake Therril up, evidently in shock and unable to comprehend that his spirit was gone from his body.   Ammiteo had stopped shooting at Sandman, opting instead to tackle him.  Because the man was so busy dodging Johnny’s bullets, the move actually succeeded.  They both crashed to the floor and Zevian could hear the sound of Ammiteo’s fist connecting with Tsyther’s face from across the room.  If he were a lesser man, the hit might have knocked him clean out.  As it was, Tsyther stared at the director with a dazed look.

"That’s for Agent Blackbird," snarled Ammiteo, finally allowing some emotion to manifest in his tone. 

He started to punch again, but Tsyther regained enough of his wits to defend himself before the hit could land.  Ammiteo hurtled backwards into the wall as his opponent called the wind against him.  Tsyther got to his feet and quickly followed, moving with amazing speed for a man who’d just been cold-cocked by a 6’4 Ulvari agent.  He kicked Ammiteo in the head, stunning him further, and he picked up his sword with obvious intentions.

Zevian knew there was no time to wait.  More as a distraction than anything else, he shifted his vision and began to unravel the tight weaves that made up his sire’s defenses.  His gamble paid off.  Tsyther felt the violation and he stopped and stared at Zevian, his pupils expanding to black ovals in his shock.

"You…would _dare_?”

It was easier than expected, once he got started.  Zevian found that he could not only drive a wedge in Tsyther’s defenses; he could project his thoughts through the “opening”.  An impulsive need to make the man feel his pain took over, and Zevian endured the torture of his worst memory, one last time.

"You always said pain makes us stronger," coughed Zevian.  "You said sentiment was a weakness, if it didn’t come with suffering."

Tsyther clutched at his head, overwhelmed by the strength of his son’s emotions.  “What is this?  What…are you doing?”

"I’m sharing my pain with you," answered Zevian, his vision blurring with tears.  "I want you to feel what I felt, and I want you to _own_ it.  Let’s see if you’re still such a big fan of suffering, after this.”

* * *

 

It was a memory he’d relived in his nightmares, more times than he cared to count.  The memory of his mate lying in a pool of his own blood on the sidewalk, his lovely features confused and scared.  He remembered the feel of his body against his as he cradled him in his arms and held him in those last moments.

"Urahis!  I’m here…I’m right here.  Hold on, okay?  You…you’re going to be all right.  The medics are coming."

_"Zev…ian?"  The bright blood trickled from the corner of the his mouth…that mouth which had shared so many kisses, smiles and laughter with him.  The gentle lavender eyes stared up at him, and a tear fell free from the left one.  "D-don’t want t-to go."_

_He’d taken his bloodied hand and kissed it, feeling his heart wind tighter and tighter.  “Then don’t go, baby.  Stay with me.  Stay with our kid.  Don’t go, Urahis.”_

_The bloodied lips quirked in a weak, tiny little smile, and then the light left his eyes.  He went limp in Zevian’s arms as his eyes fluttered shut, never to open again.  Zevian remembered yelling at him to come back, and he remembered rocking his lifeless body and sobbing over it while onlookers watched.  He remembered how much he wanted to hate the medics for arriving too late when they showed up, but it was like all the passion had drained out of him with his mate’s life.  He remembered telling Orindel that his father wouldn’t be coming back home again, because he simply couldn’t think of any other way to explain it.  He remembered the helpless feeling of guilt when the child—just old enough to understand he’d never see his father again—began to cry._

_Such was the memory—along with the feelings it invoked—that Zevian Saber forced his sire to relive with him._

* * *

 

When it was over, Tsyther was on his knees, still clutching his head, and Zevian felt drained.  Reliving it that way, and forcing the one responsible to relive it as well, had cost him.  The old, dull pain still lingered, but now he felt like he’d finally channeled it properly.  Maybe after this, he could move on with his life.

"Agent Glaive," Zevian said hoarsely, forgetting his transmitter had gotten knocked off in the fight, "if you want to do this, now would be a good time."

Tsyther stopped clutching his head and looked up at him.  “Glaive?”  He got to his feet almost as painfully as Zevian had, his features twisted with emotional pain he couldn’t hide.  “You did this…to help him?  You shared this pathetic memory…invaded my thoughts…to aid that filthy lishere?” 

He reached for his sword again, finding his answer Zevian’s tired face.  “I didn’t want to do this.  You’re my only son, and you’ve come a long way.  I could have…been proud of you, Zevian.”

"I’m weeping for you," coughed the guild lord, pressing a hand against his injured ribs.  "Go ahead, if you’ve got the balls for it.  Kill me."

"You’ve left me no choice.  This rebellion has gone too far."  Tsyther straightened up and approached him, his eyes cold and detached as he readied his sword.

Zevian looked at his own swords, lying on the floor several feet away.  Even if they were right at his feet, he knew he’d never get them in time.  He started to reach for his pistols, sheathed at his thighs.  He probably wouldn’t get a single shot off before his old man ran him through, but he wasn’t going down without a fight and if he could stall him enough to give Glaive time to get there and protect Azurel, that was enough for him.  He heard the empty click of Johnny’s gun and he knew the poor guy was still trying to shoot at the threat, even though he was probably on the verge of passing out from loss of blood.  He was out of ammo and he apparently didn’t have more on him, or he couldn’t think of how to reload in his condition. 

Zevian looked up the length of his sire’s blade as Tsyther drew his sword on him, and he braced himself.  He pulled one of his guns out of its sheath, but he didn’t get the chance to fire it.  From somewhere behind him, three deafening bangs went off, and Zevian stared in confusion at the bullet holes that appeared in Tsyther’s chest and torso.  Tsyther lowered the sword and looked down at them as well, as astonished as his son.  The black material of his outfit became damp as blood spread from the wounds, and Tsyther raised his eyes off his torso to stare at something behind Zevian.

"Y-you?"  He said it as though he couldn’t believe it, and then he crumpled to the floor, his body trembling with growing weakness and his breath faltering. 

Zevian turned with effort to see his lover standing behind him, still holding the antique pistol he’d given him with both hands.  Azurel kept the weapon trained on Tsyther, and his hands only shook slightly.  The first thing that went through Zevian’s mind was that he’d forgotten how fucking _loud_ that gun was.  His ears were ringing.  The second thought was how beautiful Azurel looked right now, with that determined look on his face and a gun in his hands.  His third thought was that he’d better get that gun out of the lifebearer’s hands before something startled Azurel into shooting the wrong person.

"He can’t hurt us now," Zevian said to his lover, lurching over to him.  "Come on, love…put it away."

Azurel slowly lowered the pistol and he clicked the safety on, before offering it to Zevian.  The guild lord shook his head and closed Azurel’s trembling hands over the weapon.  “No, it’s yours now.  Damned good shooting, kid.”

The ruby gaze lifted to him, and Azurel blinked.  “Like I said before; I learned from the best.  Zev…he was…going to kill you.”

Zevian nodded and he drew him into his embrace.  “Yeah.  You stopped him, though.”

Tsyther hadn’t seen Azurel as a threat.  That much was clear.  He probably only considered him to be a pretty diversion to enjoy after the slaughter.  He’d underestimated him and Azurel—thank forests—had found the courage to act when the opportunity presented itself.  Zevian stroked the soft, lustrous hair soothingly, feeling the young man’s body tremble against his.  He ignored the pain in his ribs as he comforted him, and he tried not to think of his deceased shark lying on the floor.

"Johnny, you still with us?"  He looked at the pale human, hoping he hadn’t joined Therril in death.

"Yeah boss…I’m still with ya."  Johnny looked down at his leg.  "I’ve bled a lot, though.  Could use a medic."

"We’ll get you one," promised Zevian. 

"Therril," Johnny said, his voice going husky.  "He won’t make it, will he?"

Zevian shook his head and closed his eyes.  “No.  It was fast.  He’s gone.” 

Remembering the other potential victim in the room, Zevian pulled away from Azurel to look at Ammiteo, still lying in a heap on the floor where Tsyther had left him.  “Director?  You aren’t dead, are you?”

A soft groan was his response.  Zevian started to lurch over to him to see how bad his condition was.  At that moment, Glaive came walking into the room.  His coral eyes were downcast, focused on a rip in his gloves.

"I know I’m tardy, Director, but I obviously couldn’t use the elevators and I ran into some opposition on the way up," explained the lishere.  He looked up and when he saw what he was walking into, his silver brows migrated to his hairline.  He stared at the now deceased Sandman lying on the floor, and then he looked around and took stock of the situation.

"This is…not what I expected to walk in on."

* * *

 

-To be continued  


	31. Chapter 31

* * *

As soon as he regained his wits, Ammiteo reported Sandman’s death to his fellow director.  “Kent, the target is down.  Repeat: the target is down.”

"Well, that explains it then," answered the human.  "Our attackers suddenly fled.  I was afraid they got some kind of silent signal from their boss that he’d taken out Haden.  I can’t reach the kid."

"Er, I’m right here, boss," Haden’s voice answered a second later.  "I’ve been here for the past twenty minutes, or so.  I couldn’t answer you before because I knew you might see me doing it.  Sorry."

Kent sounded less than impressed.  “You disobeyed orders and put yourself at risk, after we made it clear you were to stay out of sight.”

"I know," answered Haden.  "I just couldn’t hide in there while everyone risked their butts.  I’ll take whatever punishment you want to dish out."

Glaive smirked and started to speak into his transmitter, but Ammiteo shook his head with a stern expression, silently warning the lishere now wasn’t the time for dirty puns.  Kent sighed, evidently lacking the energy to stay angry with Haden for long.  “You’re lucky they didn’t recognize you, Wolfe.  Damned lucky.  Agent Little, what is the status of your prisoner?”

"Vandrin had to knock him out again to be safe, Sir, but we’ve treated his injury and he should heal up just fine, with a proper sleep trance."

"At least we managed to take _one_ of them alive,” muttered the Knight director.  “All right, I want a thorough sweep of the building, before anyone relaxes.  Wolfe, put that helmet back on until we’ve confirmed the enemy is gone.  Director Ammiteo, you might need to give the statement to the authorities when they arrive.  You’re better at dealing with people than I am.”

"That’s fine," agreed Ammiteo.  "You deal with security and clean up, while I speak with the Police and our Glass Haven brethren."

* * *

 

Azurel stared down at the body of the man he’d killed as they zipped it up into a bodybag.  He shivered involuntarily and he looked down at his hands.  His vision blurred with tears and he knew he could never do a thing like that again in a million years.  Zevian came up behind him and rubbed his shoulders.

"Don’t cry for him, Azurel.  He doesn’t deserve your tears."

"But…he was your sire," objected the dancer softly, reaching up to lay his hands over Zevian’s.  "Aren’t you even a little upset?"

The mafia boss sighed, his gaze going to Therril—who was also being bagged.  “Honestly, I’m more upset over losing one of my men than I am over Tsyther’s death.  That man hasn’t been a real parent to me since before I hit puberty.  If you have to weep, do it for the man he once was, and the parent he could have been if he’d gotten help to manage his powers when he could have.  What you killed tonight was a mad dog, and you should think of it as an act of mercy.”

Johnny cursed weakly as the medics cut his pants open to treat his injury, and Azurel almost smiled.  He turned in his lover’s arms and looked up at him searchingly.  Zevian’s handsome features were tired, but not regretful.  Azurel reached up to caress that beloved face with his fingertips, and he took a shuddering breath.

"Even if you say you don’t mourn him, I still need you to forgive me, Zevian.  I need to hear you say it."

Zevian frowned.  “It’s that important to you, is it?”

Azurel nodded.  “Please.”

Zevian put his arms around him and he gave him a quiet little smile.  “Then I forgive you.  We’re good, kid.”

Azurel bit his lip and the tears came faster, uncontrollable.  He sniffed and laid his cheek against the taller man’s chest, comforted by his embrace and his words.  “Thank you.”

* * *

 

It was early morning when Idrisar got the phone call from Ammiteo.  He covered his mouth on a yawn as he picked up his mobile and answered it.  “Blackbird.”

"I’m sorry to wake you," apologized the Director, "but I knew you would want to hear the news as soon as possible.  It’s over, Idrisar.  Sandman is dead."

Idrisar sat up in the narrow bed, his heart pounding.  “Really?  Who took him out?”

"Azurel, believe it or not," answered the sire.  "He was going to kill Zevian, and that drove the young man to shoot him.  None of us expected that; not even Tsyther."

"No, he probably wouldn’t have," agreed Idrisar, blinking.  "How is he?  Azurel, I mean.  He doesn’t strike me as the killing sort."

"He’s shaken up about it," admitted the director, "but he has Zevian looking after him and he’s agreed to speak with a counselor about it, before returning to Zarn.  We suffered some losses in this fight, Idrisar."

The agent paused in reaching for his glasses on the nightstand, and he shut his eyes.  “Who did we lose?”

Ammiteo named several operatives, ending with Lily McFarlane.  “She held on until they got her into surgery, but they lost her.  I doubt she would have made it even if we’d gotten her to the hospital right away.  She took a knife to the throat.”

Idrisar sighed and rubbed his eyes.  “Agent Sanders must be devastated.  They were very close.”

"Kent has arranged grief counseling for him, and any other operatives that want to take it.  He’ll grieve, but I think he’ll heal in time.  The good news—if you want to call it that—is that we managed to secure a prisoner.  With time, we might be able to persuade him to help us track down his accomplices, if we give him a fair deal.  He never actually killed anyone in the firefight and he has no previous record, so we can make a plea for leniency if he’ll cooperate with us."

"Did you get his name yet?"

"He calls himself Lunon," answered Ammiteo.  "Whether that’s his true name or not is uncertain."

"I remember him," said Idrisar.  "He was there when they kidnapped me.  He treated me decently."

"Then I’ll see to it that he gets treated decently, too," assured Ammiteo.  He sighed.  "The whole time this was going on, I was wishing you were here to give your advice.  At the same time, I was glad you were far away from the danger."

Idrisar lowered his eyes and absently caressed the phone, as he would have caressed Ammiteo’s face if he were there.  “I wish I could have participated.  I would have liked to see justice served.  I trust Wolfe is okay?”

"He came out without a scratch," confirmed the director, "but he disobeyed orders and joined the firefight, instead of remaining hidden."

"Of course, he did," answered Blackbird with a smirk.  "What else would you have expected, from him?  Hiding isn’t Wolfe’s style."

"Maybe not, but he’s earned himself a probationary period for his troubles.  He asked me to say ‘hello’ to you for him, by the way."

Idrisar chuckled, his grief salved a bit by amusement.  “Tell him ‘hello’ back, then.  When will the funeral rites be held?  I can book a flight back to attend.”

"Are you sure?" Ammiteo asked.  "I know our people would find your presence comforting, but maybe you should concentrate on your healing.  Everyone will understand."

"One week away won’t make a big difference in my therapy," insisted Idrisar.  "These were my comrades, and some of them served under me.  I owe it to them to pay my respects."

Ammiteo didn’t sound the least bit surprised by his decision.  “Of course.  The department will cover your travel expenses, and we can have you on a flight out today, if you want.  The funeral will be this weekend.  We’re honoring them all together, and those who didn’t have previously arranged grave sites will be buried together in the central cemetery.”

"As it should be," approved Idrisar.  "I’ll go and explain the situation to Syndal, and gather my things for the trip."

"I look forward to seeing you again."

Idrisar smiled.  “Ammiteo, how is this event going to affect our branch?  Does the head office know of everything that transpired?”

"Kent and I have both sent our reports, and we’re still waiting to hear what, if anything, they intend to do.  If we’re lucky, they’ll leave it to us to repair the damage and nobody will get a burn notice.  They…don’t know that we orchestrated this on purpose, to lure Sandman into a trap.  If they find out, I think Kent and I at least will be out of a job."

Idrisar sighed.  Handling a terrorist attack was one thing, but purposely baiting one would certainly fall under the category of reckless endangerment.  Now he was worried for his lover.  “If you go, I go.”

"Now Idrisar, we agreed not to allow our personal relationship interfere with our professional one," reminded Ammiteo.  "You’re the best agent this branch has, and I wouldn’t want to see it lose you just because of me."

Idrisar sighed again.  It wasn’t like him to behave so impulsively, but the thought of Ammiteo losing his job for doing what needed to be done to capture the notorious spirit singer rankled him.  “Dismissing you would be a grievous mistake,” he argued, “one I’m not prepared to support.”

"Let’s not worry about that until it happens," Ammiteo said gently.  "Right now, I just want to concentrate on taking care of our people and getting you home for the funeral."

Idrisar nodded.  “I can agree with that.”

* * *

 

"Ordinarily, I would advise against interrupting spirit therapy," Syndal said with gentle concern, when the agent approached him in the garden and told him he had to leave for a week.  "However, I understand you have responsibilities to your people, and honoring your dead will be therapeutic for you, I think.  We’ve made good progress here, Agent Blackbird.  Please don’t stay away for too long."

Idrisar gave the willowy sire a grateful smile, admiring his androgynous features as one would admire a work of art.  “I promise you, I’ll only be gone for the week.  I’m very dedicated to getting well again, Keeper Syndal.  I wouldn’t jeopardize my progress at all, if I didn’t feel it was necessary.”

"Then you’re probably doing the best thing for yourself," encouraged the taller man.  "Please extend our condolences to your people, while you are there."

"Thank you, I will."  Idrisar shook the sire’s hand and he remembered something else.  "I may return with a friend."

"Oh?" Syndal’s gray eyes were mildly curious. 

"He’s a spirit singer, but his gifts didn’t fully develop until recently," explained the agent.  "He’s…also the Island lord of Oricus."

"I see," murmured Syndal with recognition.  After all, the Chalice was part of the Zarn islands.  "Zevian Saber, isn’t it?"

"Yes," confirmed Idrisar.  "He’s been putting off getting his formal training while helping the agency with Sandman, but I’m going to try and convince him to come back with me and do it, now that the threat is gone.  Will that be a problem?"

"Some may object to the presence of a guild lord on these grounds," answered Syndal, "because they tend to bring their troubles with them, wherever they go.  Regardless, he will get the training he needs.  I promise you that.  The Spirit Keepers don’t turn away anyone with the gift.  Men like Tsyther are the result, if we do.  Tell your friend he is welcome to come and train with us.  Fortunately, what he learns here will stay with him for life and he never has to come back, once he’s completed the training."

"Thank you, I’ll tell him."  Idrisar lowered his gaze and spoke the next part under his breath.  "I just hope he’ll listen to me."

"I’m sure he will," soothed the Keeper.  "Tsyther was his sire.  I don’t know Mr. Saber as well as you do, but if he’s managing a guild, he must have the sense to realize he can’t risk turning out like his sire did.  He won’t want that fate, I’m sure."

* * *

 

Idrisar booked the first flight out he could get, and Ammiteo was there waiting for him when he came out of his gate.  The big sire looked tired, but his attractive smile of greeting was genuine and his lavender eyes were warm as he met Idrisar halfway and embraced him.  The lifebearer squeezed him back, taking a moment to simply _feel_ him.  He smiled at the familiar scent of his cologne.  Ammiteo figured out it was his favorite, and he wore it all the time for him, now.

"I’ve missed you," murmured the agent against the powerful chest he was nuzzling.  He didn’t care if people saw their affection.  He hadn’t been gone for long, but it felt like ages and he couldn’t get over how great it felt to embrace him like this. 

"I’ve missed you too," answered the director.  He rubbed his back and kissed the crown of his head.  "Let’s go and get your luggage, so we can get you home."

"That sounds like a good plan to me," agreed Idrisar, pulling back to smile up at him.  They stared at one another for a moment, helplessly.  Photographs weren’t the same thing as seeing each other in the flesh again, and Idrisar was stricken with "horny teenager" syndrome as his libido awakened under the handsome sire’s stare.

"Ahem…we should hurry," announced the lifebearer, lowering his gaze and prudently stepping back, before Ammiteo’s proximity could put him in an embarrassing state.

"Yes, we should," agreed the sire, his eyes faintly aglow with answering desire. 

* * *

 

Not that he’d ever had issues getting aroused before, but Idrisar suspected the work the Spirit Keepers had done on him had the effect of heightening his senses.  He and Ammiteo made love as soon as they got into his house, and Idrisar couldn’t get enough of him.  Perhaps selfishly, he woke the younger man several times during the night for more lovemaking…but Ammiteo never gave any objections.  They stayed in the next day, recovering from their passion and in Idrisar’s case, jetlag.  He contacted his sons to assure them he’d made it safely home, and he selected an outfit to wear to the funeral. 

The rites went on as planned that weekend, and Idrisar arrived with Ammiteo to attend.  The team that had gone to Rhuidhim had returned, and the entire branch was there—including some of the Cothmere agents that had been working with them.  They stood by the graves on the beautifully tended cemetery grounds, and the fall breeze blew colorful leaves through the air as the priest of Daunshra recited the rites for the human deceased.  Next to him, a lashran celebrant spoke in the Rhuidhim dialect, extolling the virtues of the fallen Ulvari agents and asking the forests and ancestors to welcome them into the afterlife.

Zevian and Azurel were there, and they stood next to Idrisar and Ammiteo during the rites.  When it was finished, the bodies were consigned to the ground and everyone dropped flowers onto the coffins in a final farewell gesture to their allies.  Malcolm approached Idrisar when it was finished, his dark features drawn with grief and his braids pulled back into a ponytail.  He offered his hand to the Ulvari agent, who shook it and gave him a sympathetic look.

"Thanks for coming, Sir," Malcolm said.  "I think Lily would have wanted you here."

Idrisar patted his shoulder.  “She was a good agent.  How are you holding up?”

"Taking it one day at a time," he sighed.  "But she wouldn’t want me to sit around on the pity pot.  I can almost hear her bitching at me every time I start feeling sorry for myself."

Idrisar smiled.  “I’m sure she would, too.  Just remember, it’s all right to grieve.  It’s even healthy.”

"I’ll try to keep that in mind, Agent Blackbird.  Excuse me, I’ve got to talk to Lily’s folks."

"Of course."  Idrisar nodded politely and watched him walk away.  He turned his attention to Zevian when he was gone, and he decided it wasn’t inappropriate to bring up the subject of the Spirit Keepers, considering these people were in the ground because of people with the gift.

"Zevian, I want you to consider flying back to the Chalice with me, next week."

The mafia lord blinked at him, frowning.  “What for?”

"Your training," reminded Idrisar.  "You’ve put it off to deal with Tsyther and now that he’s gone, I really think you should consider doing it, while you still have everything under control."

Zevian sighed and looked off in the distance.  “I’ll get it done one day, Blackbird, but I’ve still got a rival guild lord to deal with.  Vylden’s been holding the fort for me while I’m away, but if L’daris starts stirring shit again, he may not be able to handle it.  I’ll do the training when I’ve finished taking care of my responsibilities to my guild, all right?  I’m handling the spirit singing okay.”

"But Zevian," Azurel said gently, "Agent Glaive told you it’s going to keep getting worse, if you don’t get your formal training.  You’re managing it now, but I know it keeps you up at night, sometimes.  You aren’t going to do the family any good if you go crazy from the spirit voices."

Zevian gave Idrisar an annoyed look.  “See what you started?”  He pointed at his concerned lover meaningfully.

"If being harassed by your lover is what it’s going to take to get you to accept help, then I’m happy to have ‘started it’," insisted the agent.  "You know you can’t put it off indefinitely, Saber."

Zevian compressed his lips.  “Is this really the time to be talking about this?”

"It’s the perfect time to be talking about this," answered Idrisar.  "I took it into careful consideration before mentioning it.  These agents died because someone with spirit singing abilities never learned how to properly channel his skills or muffle the voices.  He allowed his gifts to consume him, and turn him into a monster.  I won’t let the same happen to you, Zevian…not if I can help it."

"Neither will I," agreed Azurel with determination.  His ruby gaze was adamant beneath the feathered wisps of black-tipped, pale lavender hair that hung over his brow.

For a moment, the guild lord remained defiant…but he was being stared down by two lifebearers he loved, and not even Zevian could withstand that for long.  He grumbled under his breath and finally offered a compromise. 

"Tell you what; I’ll contact the Spirit Keepers about hiring one of them to come to Oricus and train me at home.  That way I can keep my sanity without losing my guild.  Sound fair to you?"

"If they’ll agree to that, yes."  Idrisar relaxed a bit.  "But I’ve never heard of them ‘hiring’ any of their instructors out, the way you’re suggesting.  They may insist that you come to the Chalice for your training, like everyone else."

"Well, I can’t be in two places at once," insisted the sire, "and if I don’t bring L’daris to heel, people are going to suffer for it.  Let’s hope the Spirit Keepers can see that and agree to my terms."

* * *

 

When Idrisar got his first look at the damage caused by Sandman’s people, he was stunned.  “It looks like a tornado went through here!”

Behind him, Ammiteo patted his shoulders comfortingly.  “Most of the damage is on the second and third floors.”

"There’s a big hole in the wall on the third floor," Haden said, having overheard as he was passing by.  "Shard got a little over-enthusiastic with his magic."

"He insists on paying for it," Ammiteo assured when Idrisar turned to ogle him.  "We’ll have the damage repaired in no time."

Idrisar sighed.  “What of my office?  Do I still have one, or did that get destroyed, too?”

"Your office wasn’t touched," answered the director with a grin.  "Mine, however…well, I’ve been looking for an excuse to repaint it.  Now I have one."

"You should go with black," suggested Haden, absently thumbing through some paperwork.

"I thought you were on probation," reminded Ammiteo with a lift of his brows, "yet here you are, offering redecorating device without being asked."

"Ouch, Sir."  Haden winced.  "I’m officially off the clock, but nobody said I couldn’t volunteer to help clean up around here."

"Then help clean up," suggested Ammiteo in the tone of a parent running out of patience.

"Yes, Sir."

Ammiteo shook his head as the augmented human hurried away.  Agent Glaive stepped out of one of the damaged rooms up ahead and he and Haden started talking in the corridor. 

"He’s irrepressible," observed Idrisar with a soft chuckle.

"Yes, but somehow he and Glaive get results."

"I think I’d like to see my office, now."

Ammiteo looked at his lover and he smiled crookedly at the concern in the pale blue eyes, behind the lenses of the rectangular glasses.  He loved that Idrisar was more comfortable wearing the glasses these days, rather than constantly using contact lenses.  He looked so cute in them. 

"You don’t trust me?"

"I didn’t say that, but it isn’t beneath you to stretch the truth to protect someone, either." Idrisar smiled back at him.

"Come on, then," invited Ammiteo.  "I guess I’d better prove myself to you."

They took the elevator up to the top floor and they went to Idrisar’s office, down the hall from Ammiteo’s.  The lifebearer unlocked the door and stepped inside to find everything exactly as he’d left it.  Ammiteo came up behind him and dared to embrace him, shutting the door with his foot to prevent anyone walking by from seeing the display of affection.

"You see?  Nothing’s been disturbed.  The only person who’s been in here besides me was the cleaning lady, and I watched her work."

"That’s a bit extreme," chuckled Idrisar, caressing the big hands resting over his stomach.  He tilted his head and sighed as Ammiteo’s lips kissed the side of his neck.  "Mmm, that’s nice.  If you keep that up, I may be tempted to revise my ‘no sex at work’ policy."

"We’re not on the clock," reminded Ammiteo teasingly.

Idrisar opened his eyes, his expression thoughtful.  “That’s true, we aren’t.”

He turned around and he pushed the sire up against the door as he turned the lock, kissing him deeply.  Ammiteo was clearly taken by surprise by the action, but the growing bulge in his pants was proof that he didn’t mind being “attacked” this way.  A part of Idrisar asked him what in the hell he thought he was doing, even as he undid the taller man’s belt and began to unfasten his pants.  There was another time something similar happened between them in Ammiteo’s office, but they stopped it from going further, because they were trying to wait and they didn’t want to be unprofessional.  It was different now, though.  Idrisar had been through hell and for once, he decided to give in to the “id” and let his body have what it wanted.

* * *

 

_A while later:_

Idrisar couldn’t hold back his cries any longer, and he came against the side of his desk as his lover’s thick length drove in at the perfect angle.  He bowed his head and panted, spiraling back down to Wyndrah as the orgasm tapered off.  Ammiteo tensed behind him and groaned, driving his flesh deep inside of him and holding it there as he followed the lifebearer into climax.  He rested his forehead on Idrisar’s bowed back, between his shoulder blades, as he bucked inside of him and filled him.

"I…wasn’t expecting that," confessed the sire after a moment, when he found the wit to speak again.

Idrisar smiled with satisfaction, even as he blushed.  “Neither was I.  This…isn’t usually my style.  It just felt so good to be back in familiar surroundings, and to have you with me.”

"You don’t need to apologize for this."  Ammiteo laughed softly and kissed his ear, gently easing his sated flesh out of him.  "I’d love to stay like this for a while longer, but I’m afraid I’ll get excited again, if we do."

"I know."  Idrisar sighed regretfully and when the bigger man fully retreated, he reached for the box of tissues to clean himself up.  He offered some to Ammiteo and the sire thanked him before taking them.  Still blushing over his own brazen actions, Idrisar gingerly pulled his pants up and turned around to face his companion.  He couldn’t hold back a laugh of delight when he saw that Ammiteo was blushing just as hard as he was.

"Some people would accuse us of being prudish," he remarked, still chuckling.  "Most modern lashran wouldn’t be embarrassed over having sex in an office."

"Most of those lashran aren’t old fashioned, like we are."  Ammiteo gave him a sheepish grin back.  "But make no mistake; I enjoyed every minute of that."

Idrisar nodded.  “So did I.  My sensibilities are just stubborn.”

Ammiteo sobered a bit, his smile becoming tender as he reached out and caressed Idrisar’s face, straightening his crooked glasses in the process.  “It’s good to hear you laugh, even if it’s from embarrassment.”

Idrisar’s smile softened as well.  “It’s good to have a reason to laugh, again.”

* * *

 

_A few days later:_

Unfortunately, word got leaked to the Cothmere authorities that someone had set up the whole Sandman attack, in order to draw him out of hiding and take another shot at capturing him.  Warren Dumont, head of the Cothmere alliance branch, flew to Valkyrie Falls to investigate the matter himself.  People fell silent in the halls as he and his team of agents walked past them, all of them recognizing the man.  He was fifty years old, with a lightly tanned complexion, neatly combed, collar-length dark brown hair and hawk-like eyes of the same hue.  There were silver wings in his hair, a graceful indication of his age that otherwise didn’t show on his face.  Like Haden Wolfe, he had been augmented with lashran DNA and his face did not reflect his true age. 

He called for a meeting with all three directors from the departments, though the Bargel director had little to do with the events beyond some of his agents being in the building when they occurred.  She was called in first and when he was satisfied with her account, Dumont sent for Kent, next.

Idrisar sat in Ammiteo’s unfinished office with him, both of them waiting to be called in for their private meeting with the head of the Avras Alliance.  “I don’t see what he thinks I can add,” he sighed.  “I wasn’t even present when it happened.”

"But you were deeply involved in the case, before you took your sabbatical," reminded Ammiteo.  "I’m sure he just wants to get your perspective.  Dumont is known to be a fair-minded man, though strict."

"At least I can honestly say I know nothing about any secret plans to lure Sandman here."  Idrisar forced a little smile.  "I’m glad I asked not to hear any details."

Ammiteo nodded.  “Your conscience can stay clear, and I’m glad for that, too.”

Idrisar looked at him with concern.  “What will you tell him?”

Ammiteo shrugged.  “The truth.  I don’t see what else I can do.  I’ll take the blame for it all.  Nobody else should lose their job over this.”

Idrisar shook his head.  “Ammiteo, no.  You can’t martyr yourself, that way.”

"Someone has to take the blame," insisted the big man.  "Or we’ll have to keep lying until we’re caught, and that will get more people in trouble.  I appreciate your loyalty, but this may be the best option we have.  I’m still young, and there’s plenty of work in this city for a man like me.  Don’t worry about me, Idrisar."

Idrisar hesitated, visibly struggling.  “I’ll put in a word for you,” he insisted.  “I’ll demand that they take into consideration that this man would still be at large, if you hadn’t acted.  He wasn’t going to be caught by conventional means, and I think everybody knows that.”

Ammiteo smiled warmly at him.  “I’m glad to have you in my corner.  Just please, don’t risk your job trying to save mine.  This will be for nothing, if we both end up unemployed.”

Idrisar sighed.

* * *

 

"Director, they’re ready for you," Ceindar poked his head in to inform Ammiteo.

The director glanced at his CEO before getting up and walking out the door.  His young secretary bit his lip as he walked by.  “Good luck, sir.”

Ammiteo absently reached out to pat the lifebearer on the arm, fond of him in an almost brotherly way.  “Thank you, Ceindar.”

He made his way down to the third floor and to the allotted meeting room—one of the few that hadn’t been damaged in the raid.  Kent was just coming out of the room as Ammiteo approached, and he met up with him.

"I told them everything," informed the human director.  "They know it was all my idea.  All they need is confirmation that you and Blackbird weren’t involved in the ruse, and we’re done here."

Ammiteo stopped in his tracks and stared at the other man.  “What?”

"I don’t see the point in denying it," Trey said with a shrug.  "I was getting ready to retire next year, anyhow.  I’m getting too old for this shit."

"But, you won’t be retiring," insisted Ammiteo in a whisper.  "You’ll be discharged!  You can’t collect retirement benefits from the organization, if they can you."

"I was in the Navy, before I joined the Order," reminded Kent.  "I’ll still get government vet benefits, and I’ve been putting away a retirement fund for years.  There’s no sense in being greedy.  I’m set, no matter what happens here today."

"I don’t believe this," Ammiteo muttered.  "Kent, I can’t let you take all the blame."

"That’s not your decision," countered the other man.  "I’m the one responsible for the plan.  I got the idea listening to Wolfe’s statement that it might be better if Sandman showed up looking for him, because we might not catch him any other way.  You had nothing to do with it, and don’t try to convince them otherwise, got it?"

Ammiteo briefly shut his eyes, and he patted the other man on the arm.  “I owe you.”

"Invite me over for a barbeque sometime, and we’ll call it square.  Now go on and give them your statement.  I’ll drop by your office and say goodbye to Blackbird."

Ammiteo knew that by “saying goodbye”, he meant he would tell Idrisar what he’d done and give him the same warning to not contradict his statement.  Word would have to get out to all agents involved in the plan to lure Sandman, but Ammiteo trusted Kent to take care of that, before Dumont began to question any of them. 

* * *

 

As predicted, they gave Trey Kent his burn notice.  Ammiteo was again put on probation for failing to detect and stop the reckless plan, but Dumont explained to him that it was just a front.  Someone needed to be punished for the deaths of those agents, and he was a scapegoat.  He accepted what others considered an unfair penalty, because in doing so, he got to keep his job.  Ammiteo truly loved his work, and despite what he’d said to Idrisar before his interview, he knew he wouldn’t be satisfied working a civilian job.  The Ulvari-vash was his life. 

Haden thought it was grossly unfair that Kent was losing his job, and he wanted to show his appreciation for the sacrifice he’d made to ensure nobody else got canned.  He organized a “retirement party” for Kent, the night before Blackbird was scheduled to return to the Chalice and resume his therapy.  They threw it at the same bar and grill they’d thrown his birthday party at, and most everyone from each department showed up for it.

Zevian and Azurel flew with Idrisar when he returned to the Chalice, and the former had a meeting with Keeper Syndal about “borrowing” one of the anointed for personal training.  At first, the head Keeper was against the idea, but Zevian’s charisma and reasoning wore him down.

"You don’t really want a guild lord hanging out on your island anyway, do you?" persisted Zevian.  "My enemies aren’t likely stupid enough to come messing with the Spirit Keepers to get at me, but you never know."

"What you are proposing is dangerous," answered Syndal with a frown.  "The outer islands are dangerous…no place for one of the anointed.  We live simple lives here, Mr. Saber.  I fear what the influence of a place like Oricus could do to one of our brethren."

"You mean you’re afraid I’ll turn him into me," guessed the handsome gangster with a smirk.

"Well, not in so many words, but…"

Zevian waved it away.  “Don’t worry, I’m hard to offend.  Listen, I don’t want to follow my old man’s footsteps, but I’ve got responsibilities.  If you think the outer islands are bad now, just wait and see what happens if L’daris Undir takes them over.  Not even the Chalice will be safe from his ‘business’, if he overthrows me.”

"It’s true," agreed Idrisar, backing him up.  "Undir is ruthless and power-hungry, Keeper.  He’s conspired with Tsyther in the past.  He’s a very dangerous man and if he takes Saber down, the other island will surely follow.  Xellnaise Quartz isn’t a confrontational man, for all that he’s a guild lord.  He wouldn’t have the strength to put up a decent resistance.  He can barely keep the pirates from taking over Azirus, as it is."

"If he’s such a terribly weak guild lord, why doesn’t he choose an heir and bequeath control to him?" asked the Keeper.

"Obligation," answered Zevian.  "Xellnaise was born into this, unlike me.  He didn’t choose this life, it was given to him.  He does the best he can with what he’s got, but he’s just not ambitious or ruthless enough to deal with L’daris on his own.  That’s why you need to consider my proposal.  I promise your man will be well-protected in my home, and nobody is going to force him to watch TV or play video games or anything else you people have taken vows against.  He can cook his own meals and if it makes him feel more at home, he can even take over some of the gardening.  I just want to look after my family, without compromising my future sanity."

Syndal tapped his fingertips on the marble desk he sat behind, his fine-boned features troubled.  “This would be unprecedented.  Agent Blackbird, can you vouch for this man’s sincerity?”

Idrisar nodded without hesitation, glancing at the sire sitting on the seat beside his.  “Yes, Keeper.  Zevian keeps his promises and despite his status as a guild lord, I’ve come to know him as a decent, honorable man.”

"You’re making me blush."

Idrisar poked Zevian in the side, warning him with his eyes to be quiet.

Syndal watched them both silently for a moment, taking things into consideration.  Finally, he nodded and held Zevian’s gaze.  “I want a contract drawn up stating that you will do everything in your power to respect our vows and protect the spirit singer we send with you.  I want you to swear to give him your full cooperation at all times.  If at any point you feel you may lose control of the island to this…Undir guild lord, you are to send the spirit singer directly back to the chalice, whether your training is complete or not.”

Zevian nodded.  “That sounds like a fair shake to me.  You’ve got a deal.”

* * *

 

Azurel got up from his cross-legged position in the sand by the fish pond, when he saw his lover coming into the meditation garden with Agent Blackbird.  He brushed some granules off of his silk pants and he looked up at the sire searchingly.  “Well?  How did it go?”

"We’ve got ourselves a tutor."  Zevian grinned roguishly at him and winked.  "You can stop worrying about me, now."

"Thank forests," sighed the dancer.  He looked at Idrisar.  "You had something to do with it, didn’t you?"

"He convinced the head honcho to give my idea a try," agreed Zevian before the Ulvari agent could speak.  He patted Idrisar on the back.  "Thanks for doing that, by the way.  It was really decent of you."

"I just didn’t want to revisit the ‘Sandman’ situation with you, years from now.  I’m not a fan of the idea of drawing a gun on you, Saber."

"Well, now you can stop worrying about that," insisted the guild lord.  "At least as far as my spirit singing shit is concerned.  We could still end up on opposite sides of the barrel some day, given our careers."

Idrisar shook his hand.  “Let’s hope that never happens.”

Zevian returned the pressure of his grip, smirking.  “Would you really take me out, Blackbird?”

"If I had to," answered the agent without hesitation.  He gave a little smile.  "But I would make it quick."

"Can we stop talking about shooting each other?" Azurel said miserably.  "It’s depressing."

Idrisar chuckled and drew him into a gentle embrace.  “I’m sorry.  It’s highly unlikely to ever come to that, if it makes you feel any better.  My organization rarely has anything to do with the goings on of Zarn, and the islands are outside the law, for the most part.”

"I’ll keep my business away from Valkyrie Falls," promised Zevian, "so he’ll never have to shoot me."

"Good," murmured Azurel, returning the older lifebearer’s embrace with feeling.  "Because if Idrisar shot you, I’d have to shoot _him_ and I don’t ever want to be faced with a choice like that again…especially against someone I consider a friend.”

"I’ll do my best to see to it that you don’t," agreed Idrisar.  He stepped back and smiled fondly at Azurel, before releasing him.  "Keep him out of trouble for me."

"I’ll try," agreed the dancer, looking at Zevian dryly, "but I can’t work miracles."

Zevian put an arm around Azurel, drawing him away.  “Come on, cheeky.  Our car is waiting for us.”

"What about the trainer?" demanded Azurel with a frown.  "You aren’t leaving the island without him, are you?"

"He’ll fly to Oricus after he packs his things," answered the guild lord.  "I’ll have him flown in on a private jet and escorted to the house, don’t worry.  I’m not going to go nuts in a day, kid."

Idrisar watched them go and listened to their banter with a smile.  When they left the garden, he sighed and turned back to the building entrance.  He had a long, lonely stretch of months to look forward to.

* * *

 

Time passed slowly, for those eagerly awaiting to be reunited.  Ammiteo suffered through the months with stoicism typical of him, though on the inside, his heart was heavy.  He emailed his lover each day and spoke to him two, sometimes three times per week long-distance, but he missed his touch.  The Spirit Keepers advised against visitation until Idrisar completed the first stage of cleansing, and they couldn’t estimate how long that would take.  Ammiteo’s probation ended and repairs to the building were complete.  It was back to business as usual for the VF Alliance, handling potential terrorist threats and protecting high profile political leaders.  They assigned a new director to the Order; a woman by the name of Valerie Stevenson.  She was an attractive woman in her early thirties, with fair skin and green eyes.  She wore her brown hair in a pixie haircut and while she was strict, she was easy enough to get along with.

While Ammiteo dealt with being separated from his love and worked to improve the performance of his department, Zevian worked with Matthias; the lifebearer spirit singer sent to live with him and tutor him in his abilities.  He volunteered for the assignment because he’d known Tsyther, and he had a personal interest in making sure the son wouldn’t suffer the same fate as his sire.  He admitted to Zevian that he’d cared for Tsyther, and when he mentioned the resemblance between them, Azurel began to experience unpleasant pangs of jealousy.

"Do you find him attractive?" he asked his lover on night, as they lay in bed together after making love.

"Who?" asked Zevian.  He traced patterns over the smooth, bronze skin of Azurel’s back. 

"Matthias.  Your tutor."

Zevian’s brows shot up.  “The spirit singer?  That’s like asking me if I think a nun is hot.”  He started to chuckle.  “Where the hell did that come from?”

Azurel propped himself up and rested a hand on Zevian’s naked chest.  “It’s not funny!  Sometimes he looks at you like…like…”

Zevian sighed.  “Like he’s seeing my sire.  Back in the day, before Glaive melted his face, my old man was considered quite a dish by many a lifebearer, kid.  Just because Matthias sees something of him in me doesn’t mean he’s after me.  I get the feeling he started falling for him, before Tsyther went off the deep end.  It’s harmless.”

"But what if it isn’t?" insisted Azurel.  "Okay, he’s sort of a religious figure, but the Spirit Keepers aren’t like human nuns or priests.  They still date, and he’s a nice looking lifebearer."

"You think I’d take advantage of it, if he does have a crush on me?"

"Well, no.  I know you better than that, Zev, but how is it going to affect your training if he starts getting distracted with feelings for you?"

Zevian sighed and stroked his hair.  “Then I suppose I’d have to send him back and ask for another one.  To answer your question: no, I don’t find him attractive.  I don’t find him ugly either, I just don’t really think of him that way at all.  He’s here to do a job, and that’s that.”  He traced the dancer’s pouty lips.  “Besides, the way you sex me up every night, I wouldn’t have the energy to fool around with anyone else.”

Azurel smiled, relaxing.  “I guess you think I’m being silly.”

"Nah.  I have my moments of jealousy when it comes to you, too.  At least you’ve got practical reasons for being worried about it.  If he can’t perform the job he came here to do, then he can’t stay.  Let’s just play it by ear and see how it goes, for now."

Azurel nodded.  “Okay.”  He laid his head on Zevian’s chest and shut his eyes.  “I’m sorry if I sounded accusatory.”

"Don’t sweat it," Zevian said.  He reached for the table lamp and turned it off, plunging the room into darkness.  "Let’s get some sleep, baby.  I’ve got a big day ahead of me and I’ll need all my wits."

Azurel’s eyes opened and a look of dread bled into his pretty features.  “Please, be careful.”

"I promise, I’ll come home to you."

The dancer shut his eyes and prayed that he could _keep_ that promise.

* * *

 

When Zevian Saber put his mind to something, he rarely failed to accomplish it.  He arranged a meeting between guild lords in neutral territory, on a ferry traveling between the islands.  He refused to allow Azurel to come with him, because he knew that this meeting would likely end in gunfire, one way or the other.  Xellnaise looked like he wished he was anywhere but there, and the lesser guild lords didn’t look much more enthused.  L’daris sat with his men, smoking a cigar and looking up at Zevian as the Oricus guild lord paced the private room he’d reserved for the meeting.  Zevian kept his balance with remarkable ease, despite the fact that the waters were choppy today and the ferry was rocking erratically.

"Vylden informed me that your people intercepted a shipment bound for Oricus, last week," Zevian said.  "A shipment of _my_ merchandise.  What do you say to that?”

"I had my people intercept an unauthorized barge traveling through Voldus waters," admitted L’daris coolly.  "They didn’t get permission to sail our coast, so we took payment ourselves.  Maybe you ought to tell your people to be more careful, in the future."

"They were forced into your waters by pirate activity further out to sea," Zevian argued.  "And under those circumstances, coastal waters are open to all.  That’s been the agreement since before your old man passed."

"So it has," agreed L’daris, "but my people didn’t report any signs of pirate activity."

Zevian looked to Xellnaise, who was shaking his head.  “You have a take on this?”

The Azirus guild lord practically cringed when everyone looked at him, but he spoke up.  “Last week was busy for Ripper activity.  I know, because they came to me demanding access to my island’s southern coast, so they could try and block Wayfarer ships off.  It’s not only possible, but probable that your barge was faced with the choice of altering their course or being set upon by pirates.” 

L’daris gave the silver-haired sire a venomous look.  “That’s still not proof.”

"The proof is in the account given by the survivors," insisted Zevian.  "Two of them made it back to Oricus.  It turns out you made some kind of a deal with one of the Ripper captains when you found out about the merchandise, and you split the profits with them and let take whatever crew your people didn’t kill on as slaves."

"Slaves?" repeated Xellnaise impulsively, eyes wide.  "Good heavens, does that still go on?"

Distracted by the man’s expressed naivety, Zevian looked at him and he wondered how in the hell Xellnaise even managed to tie his own shoes.  “It never stopped; it’s just done more quietly, these days.”  Azurel himself had been a slave, and it amazed Zevian that anyone living in Zarn could be unaware of the flesh trade.

"Do you have any proof of this, Saber?" one of the other guild lords asked with a frown.

Zevian reached into his jacket and produced a data disc.  “Right here on the disc.  Lucky for these guys, they were bought by one of my own people, who happened to be visiting the black market in Voldus the day they were sold.  Johnny recognized one of them because he arranged the deal in the first place.” 

Zevian put the disk in the laptop computer sitting on the table and he turned it to face the group before turning it on.  They listened to the escaped crewmen’s account of what happened that day, and they all looked at L’daris.  He was glaring up at Zevian with hate-filled, black eyes and he slowly got to his feet.

"If it’s compensation you’re after, I’m prepared to give it to you," he said, spitting the words out as if he couldn’t abide the taste of them.

"No, I think we’re past that, now."  Zevian pushed his coat open, revealing the twin pistols holstered to his thighs.  "It’s time to end this, once and for all.  We’ll do this the old fashioned way, Undir.  A duel.  Whoever survives takes over the other man’s island.  How about it?"

L’daris looked at the pistols, then at Zevian’s face.  “At dawn?”

Zevian shrugged.  “Why wait ‘till dawn?  We can settle this right here, right now, with these gentlemen witnessing.  This way, I can’t be accused of unfairness and you don’t have the chance to pull any bullshit stunts.  One quick draw, one shot, and we’re finished forever.”

Xellnaise ogled him.  “Zevian, you can’t be serious!”

"I am," insisted the Oricus guild lord, "I’m tired of this never-ending fracas.  If you don’t have the stomach for it, I advise you to leave the room and go up on deck.  Someone’s body is getting dumped in the ocean today, regardless."

L’daris began to reach for his guns.  “You’re sure about this, Saber?  You know if you lose, I’ll be taking back that pretty slut I sold you.  When I finish fucking him ‘till he bleeds, I’ll cut up that lovely face of his, so no man will ever want him again.  That’s what awaits your whore, if you go down.”

"I’ve already made arrangements to get Azurel to safety, the moment my people get the word.  You’ll never touch him again."  Zevian’s face remained impassive.  "Ready when you are, L’daris."

Undir glanced at his men, then shrugged.  “Have it your way.  Maybe this was destined to happen, eventually.”

Zevian nodded at Vylden.  “You do a silent countdown in your head and make the call on three, okay?”

"Sure, boss."  Vylden’s green eyes were confident on him, as if he had no fear of him losing the duel.  Zevian loosened up and waited as the platinum-blond sire did the count in his head.

"Draw."

Two guns were drawn.  Two silenced shots went off.  Zevian staggered, pressing a hand over his right side.  L’daris stared at him blankly, before falling to the floor, twitching.  There was a neat bullet hole in his forehead.  The shot killed him almost instantly.

"Boss?" Vylden broke into a sweat as he helped Zevian to a chair.  The guild lord’s hand came away bright and stick with his own blood.

"It didn’t hit anything vital," Zevian assured him.  He looked around at the audience.  L’daris’ men stared helplessly at their boss, shock written all over their faces.  "The question you need to be asking yourself, gentlemen, is if you’d like to join your boss in the afterlife, or get the hell away from these islands.  I’m going to give you and the rest of your family the chance to evacuate, before I send people in to take over the Undir den."

Of course, none of them chose to join L’daris.

* * *

 

"It’s only going to be temporary," Zevian explained to Xellnaise after they disembarked from the ferry in Oricus, "until I can decide on who’s going to take L’daris’ place.  I’m considering Vylden, because I know I can trust him and he’s done a damned fine job for all these years.  Either way, you can be assured whoever takes up the throne in Voldus can be counted on as an ally." 

Xellnaise gave him a concerned look as he grunted and pressed a hand against his side.  “That’s…wonderful.  I think we should get you to a hospital, though.  The shot may be superficial, but you can’t keep walking around with a bullet inside of you.  It could move and rupture something important.”

"Adam’s bringing the car," assured Zevian, sitting gingerly on a bench by a public ash tray.  "I’ll have him take me to my doctor, when he does.  Want us to drop you at the airport, or are you going to take the ferry back to Azirus?"

Xellnaise paled a little and grimaced.  “I think I’ve had my fill of ferries, today.  I’ll make flight arrangements for me and my men, thanks.”

"Then we’ll drop you on our way to the hospital."

"Have you called your dancer, yet?  I know he’ll be worried, if he had any idea what you conducted this meeting to do."

Zevian swore softly.  “He’s going to kill me for leaving him hanging.  Thanks for the reminder, Xellnaise.  I’d better call my kid too, and let him know he and his mate don’t need to stay with the Ulvari anymore.”

* * *

_A week later:_

Ammiteo arrived on the Chalice at sunset.  As soon as he got through customs, he hired a cab to take him to the Spirit Keepers’ sanctum, where Idrisar had spent the past three months recovering from his ordeal.  Usually stoic to the point where his coworkers jokingly referred to him as a “statue”, Ammiteo found himself suffering a severe case of butterflies in his stomach as the car drove up the winding path to the temple.  When they reached the top of the hill, where the cobbled driveway curved around to the front gates, Ammiteo spotted two figures standing out front. 

At first, he thought they were both spirit singers, because one wore robes and the other wore a combo of a white, long-sleeved shirt and matching pants—signature garments of apprentices.  When the car came to a stop and the driver got out to open his door, Ammiteo had another look at the shorter lashran in the plain white robes and he did a double-take. 

"Blackbird?" murmured the director, staring.

Idrisar gave him that warm, cultured smile of his, and the pale blue eyes lit up behind the oval lenses of the glasses he wore.  “I see you didn’t immediately recognize me,” he said as he approached with his tall, willowy sire companion.

Ammiteo couldn’t take his eyes off of him.  Idrisar’s hair had grown out since he’d last seen him, and he had it brushed back to keep it out of his eyes.  It fell to his shoulders in the back.  In the setting sun, Ammiteo could see the nearly maroon tint of his dark hair where it had grown out, and it darkened to raven black at the tips.  It was essentially Idrisar’s natural color, now.  The sculpted face was exactly as he remembered it; masculine in a youthful, boyish way and quite stunning to look at.  Photos just didn’t do justice to the man in the flesh, and for a moment, all Ammiteo could think of was how damned _pretty_ he was.

"You look…well."  Ammiteo came very close to saying he looked delicious, but he somehow remembered that they had an audience and he turned to regard him.  Ammiteo recognized the spirit singer at Idrisar’s side and he gave him a respectful nod and offered his hand.  "Keeper Syndal.  Good to see you again."

Syndal shook his hand and smiled.  “Welcome to the grounds, Director Ammiteo.  Your agent here insisted upon greeting you at the gate, so I took it upon myself to wait with him.” 

Idrisar lowered his gaze and shrugged, looking slightly bashful.  “Well, yes.  I thought it would be the polite thing to do.”

Ammiteo grinned in spite of himself, finding Idrisar’s reaction more than a little cute.  Seeing no harm in showing a little affection, he took one of the lifebearer’s hands in his.  “I’m glad you did.  It was a nice surprise, Idrisar.  I almost didn’t recognize you, at first.”  He gave the Keeper an uncomfortable look, and he released his hands.

"There’s no need to censor your affection," chuckled Syndal.  "This isn’t like a human monastery.  Celibacy doesn’t work for our kind and what’s more, it’s unnatural.  There are no rules against affection between lovers, here."

Feeling a little better, Ammiteo gave him a thankful nod.  He looked at Idrisar again and he reached out to stroke his hair, briefly.  “It really did grow fast.”

Idrisar self-consciously combed the fingers of his free hand through his hair with a smirk.  “Yes, lashran hair grows so fast, and I’ve been too focused on my therapy to go to a barber.  I’ve been trimming it myself to keep it at least somewhat under control, but I’m afraid I’m not much of a stylist.”

"You wear the look well," assured Ammiteo, squeezing his hand.  "The clothes threw me off more than the length of your hair."

The compliment seemed to pacify Idrisar and he smiled up at him again, squinting a little against the orange glow of the setting sun.  “Ah, I didn’t bring many changes of clothes with me when I came here, and today was laundry day.  They were kind enough to give me a couple of outfits so that I’d have something to wear when I wash my clothes. Let’s get you settled in.  Dinner will be served in an hour.”

* * *

 

It was difficult to keep his hands off him, but Ammiteo somehow managed to do it until they retired to Idrisar’s chambers for the night.  Once the door was shut, the lifebearer came into his arms as eagerly as Ammiteo embraced him.  Their mouths sought one another out, and Ammiteo was soon drowning in the scent, taste and feel of his lover.  The long months without his touch had been like torture, and he didn’t know how much longer it would take for them to complete his therapy and release him.  He had a week off work to spend with Idrisar, and he meant to make every second count. 

Idrisar evidently felt the same.  His passion bordered on aggression, and he was quite demanding throughout the night.  Only when he had no energy left to give did Idrisar finally let his companion rest, and they fell into exhausted slumber together as the sun began to rise.

They spent their days chatting, taking walks on the beach and eating local fair, and they spent their nights having vigorous, passionate sex.  There was a sort of quiet desperation to Idrisar’s lovemaking, and if he were a younger lifebearer, Ammiteo might have wondered if he was approaching a fertility cycle.  As the end of the week approached and the time drew near for him to leave, Ammiteo returned the desperation, showering his companion with all the tenderness, pleasure and affection he could spare.  The day inevitably came for him to leave, and he and Idrisar embraced tightly outside the gates of the temple.

"I can take time off again next month to come and visit, if you’re still here," Ammiteo informed him huskily.  "Gods, I miss you already."

"Don’t be so dramatic," murmured Idrisar, but his eyes were sparkling with a hint of tears.  "This will be over sooner or later, and then we can spend all the time we want together."

"Move in with me," suggested Ammiteo.  "When you’re finished here, that is."

"Or, you could move in with me, instead," countered Idrisar.  "If you’re serious."

Having expected rejection, Ammiteo smiled enthusiastically and squeezed the smaller man.  “Of course.  Your house has more room than my apartment anyway, and I know you have guest rooms set up for your family.”

Idrisar pulled away to look up at him.  “So, we’re really going to do this?”

"I’d like to," agreed Ammiteo sincerely. 

"I can be a bit of a pill in the mornings," warned Idrisar with a smile.

"It’s a pill I’m willing to swallow."  Ammiteo made a face at his own bad pun.  "Can we forget I said that?"

Idrisar laughed and kissed him.

* * *

 

Almost two months later, the Spirit Keepers finally pronounced Idrisar healed, though he was advised to see a regular therapist for a while, until he was certain he’d gotten over his ordeal.  He returned home to Valkyrie Falls and he was subjected to a “Welcome Home” party, organized by Haden, of course.  After a night of celebration and a day of recuperation, Idrisar started making room for his lover to move in with him.  Ammiteo didn’t bring a lot of belongings.  He sold most of his furniture so as not to clutter Idrisar’s house with it, and he stored his exercise equipment in the attic.  Soon, they had their little “love nest” and things were looking up for them.  Idrisar went back to the Chalice on assignment a week later, and he decided to check in on Zevian and Azurel while he was in the area.

* * *

 

Zevian was thrilled when Johnny informed him that an old friend was waiting in the common room for him.  The guild lord left his private upstairs quarters and went downstairs to see the man his sire nearly put in an institution.  He’d heard that Idrisar was finally leaving the Chalice after long months of therapy with the Spirit Keepers, but he hadn’t really expected him to stop by Oricus before heading home. 

He smiled when he saw the Ulvari agent sitting at a table by one of the bay windows.  Idrisar’s hair had recently been cut and dyed back to raven color and style that he preferred, as opposed to the long-ish, flowing style he’d grown it out into during his time on the Chalice.  He wore a black vest over a long-sleeved, white button-up shirt and the black trousers he wore complimented the top garments.  A pair of white patent loafers completed the ensemble, balancing out the tones.  He wasn’t wearing glasses, so Zevian assumed he had contacts in.  He appeared much as he had years ago, when he showed up on Zevian’s doorstep to question him and ended up offering condolences instead.  He cut quite the handsome picture and the glances of admiration several patrons kept giving him told Zevian he wasn’t the only one that thought so.

"Agent Blackbird," greeted Zevian as he joined Idrisar at the table.  For once, the lifebearer was indulging himself in a cocktail and Zevian gave him a searching look.  "Don’t tell me something’s gone wrong, now.  I think we’ve all had enough excitement to last us a few years."

Idrisar raised a dark brow at him.  “Why would you think something was wrong?”

"You’re drinking," answered the guild lord bluntly, with a nod at the cocktail.  "The last time you were in my club, you refused all alcohol."

"That’s because the last time I was in your club, I was here on business," answered the agent dryly.  He picked up his drink and stared at the colorful liquid in the glass as he swirled the ice around.  "This is a social call.  I returned to the Chalice this week to collaborate with the operatives there about the agency they’re building on the island.  I’ve finished with that, so I thought I would stop by to see how you and Azurel are doing before I return home to Avras."

"I see."  Zevian looked at the serving girl that came to the table when she saw him and he winked at her.  "I’ll have a bourbon on the rocks, sweetheart."

"Of course, Mr. Saber.  Right away."  She was an attractive young woman with rich brown, waist-length hair and she was dressed in the Ocathian style clothing consisting of a gauzy bikini top and a matching skirt that fell to her ankles in soft, semi-transparent petals of cloth.

When he looked back at his companion, Saber frowned.  “What’s with the glare?”

"You’re in a committed relationship," reminded Idrisar coolly, "and yet you still can’t seem to address a woman or lifebearer without flirting.  You haven’t changed."

Zevian shrugged.  “It’s harmless.  Azurel doesn’t mind, so why should you?”

The Ulvari agent sighed and laughed briefly into his glass before having another sip.  “I really don’t know.  I suppose it bothers me because I keep thinking the recipients of your flirtation might not realize it’s only in fun.”

"I’m not going to cheat on my lover," Zevian assured him.  "I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a lecher."  The waitress returned with his drink and Zevian gave her a charming smile that had Idrisar rolling his eyes.  "Thanks, babydoll."

"Absolutely, Mr. Saber."  She smiled back at him and sauntered away.

"How is your training going?" Idrisar questioned.

"It’s moving along.  Azurel thinks my tutor might have a little crush on me, but I think he just sees my sire sometimes, when he looks at me.  He used to know him."

"That sounds…awkward."

"I guess it could be, if I let it get to me," answered Zevian.  "The way I see it, he’s already here and I’m learning from him, so unless he makes a move on me, it’s cool.  With L’daris out of the way, I can afford to relax a little."

"Congratulations, on that," said Idrisar.  "Though I hear it was close."

"Not even.  I blew a hole in his head, and he didn’t even knick a rib."

Zevian frowned severely when he reached for his drink and saw what was floating in the glass with the ice-cubes.  “What the _hell_?”

Idrisar looked at the object as Zevian fished it out with two fingers and he snorted, glancing toward the bar.  “It looks like someone’s trying to give you a hint, Zevian.”

Zevian studied the baby pacifier that somehow landed in his drink, before following Idrisar’s gaze to the bar.  Azurel was there and he grinned cheekily at Zevian and waved at Idrisar before responding to something one of the serving girls said to him. 

"I think I may be in trouble," muttered Zevian.  "Ever since we went to Rhuidhim to be there for the birth of my godson’s child, he’s had baby fever.  All it took was five seconds of holding that kid to make Azurel get the _look_.”

The agent clearly found it amusing.  “And you’re _surprised_ by this?  He’s young and in the beginning of his childbearing years.  You’re a virile, strong sire with good genetics and he’s completely in love with you.  Surely you had to have known there was a chance he might want to have children with you some day, Zevian.”

"Well yeah…and he and I already had this discussion once, but I guess he’s not ready to give it up," Zevian answered.  He looked at the exotic young lifebearer at the bar across the room and he sighed.  "He didn’t have a crash-hot childhood and I figured that would temper his reproductive instincts a little.  I expected to be visiting grandkids by now, Idrisar…not having more kids of my own.  I wasn’t that good at sirehood the _first_ time around and Urahis was near the end of his childbearing years when we had Orindel.  He was a lot more grounded and experienced in life than Azurel.”

Idrisar’s amused look was laced with sympathy.  “You can’t be as bad at childrearing as you think.  You brought your son up on your own, didn’t you?  I know you say he’s loud and dresses bad, but I’ve also heard you say he’s a ‘great kid’.  You’ve got to give yourself some credit.”

"Yeah, but I still feel like Orin was cheated," answered Zevian truthfully.  "Raising a lifebearer without having one around to help was hard, and not just on me. I think Orindel had to be a little tougher than other lifebearers his age, even here in Oricus."

"I understand.  I had a sire to raise and there were things I just felt inept with.  Some things were just harder to explain to him and there were times when I just couldn’t relate.  Still, both of us managed to get through it and I think if you were to compare our sons to everyone else in their generation, you’d find we did a pretty good job raising them to be productive."

Zevian thought about it and he smiled a little, nodding.  “You’ve really got a gift for the gab, Idrisar.  I never thought of it that way.”

Idrisar shrugged and checked his watch.  “I just think you should be willing to compromise.  Yes, you’ve done the parenting thing and the way you had to do it was awful, but Azurel hasn’t had that opportunity.  If you really do love him, I suggest you take that into consideration before allowing your relationship to progress further.”

"What about you, though?"  Zevian raised a brow at him, watching him with shrewd, aqua eyes.  "Your juggernaut has never experienced the joy of parenthood either."

Idrisar smiled.  “That’s where our situations differ.  I have an expiry date for having children and you don’t.  Ammiteo can’t resent me for something he knows I can’t give to him.  Azurel, on the other hand…” he nodded meaningfully at the bar and finished the last of his drink.

Zevian grimaced.  “I get your drift.  I’ll give it some thought.”

 ”You should,” agreed Idrisar.  “I wish I could stay and catch up longer, but my flight leaves soon and I don’t want to miss it.”

Zevian stood up and he started to offer his hand to the agent, but on impulse he hugged him instead.  To his surprise, Idrisar chuckled and hugged him back.  “You take care of yourself, gorgeous,” advised Zevian.

"You too," answered the lifebearer.  He stepped away and smiled up at Zevian.  "And for what it’s worth, I think you’d do a fine job parenting, if you decide to start a family with Azurel.  Excuse me while I go and say goodbye to him."

Zevian gave a little bow and watched as the “one that got away” went to the bar to give the “main squeeze” a fond farewell.  The two lifebearers hugged for several moments and Zevian pushed inappropriate thoughts out of his head.  He grunted and shook his head.  Idrisar left the club and Zevian waved at him as he went out the door.  The guild lord sat back down with his drink and mentally reviewed the week’s business.  He had two meetings to take care of and a shipment to oversee.  The cash flow was good, this month.

* * *

_The next evening in Valkyrie Falls:_

Idrisar got a text message from Ammiteo as soon as he made it past the security checkpoint in the airport.

_"At our house, waiting.  Have surprise."_

Idrisar lifted his brows with intrigue.  Coming home to his lover after such a long, tiring flight was a pleasant reward.  He’d missed the burly sire and his considerate ways, though he’d only been gone for a couple of days.  Ammiteo had a romantic streak, even if he was embarrassed to admit it.

Idrisar grimaced at a sudden pang of nausea and he put a hand over his stomach, waiting for it to pass.  Traveling, airplane food and nerves had been testing his fortitude, since he left the Chalice.  He regretted having that cocktail in Zevian’s club, as it only seemed to churn in his stomach.  He hailed a taxi and as he started to get in, the nausea hit him full-on.  He ended up bending over and puking on the curb.  The driver got out and came to his side with concern. 

"You okay there, buddy?"

Idrisar finished emptying his stomach and he swallowed, pressing a hand against his stomach.  “Yes,” he lied.  Realizing the fib for what it was, he shook his head.  “No.  Maybe you shouldn’t get close…I could have a virus.  Take me to the Ocean View medical center, please.  I need to arrange an emergency appointment.”

"You got it."  The driver opened the door for him and took his suitcase, putting it in the trunk.  "You don’t think you’re gonna puke again, do you?  I’ve got motion sickness bags back there, if you do."

"I’ll keep that in mind."  Idrisar swallowed and he called Ammiteo to let him know he’d be running late.  "Hi, it’s me.  Yes, I’m in town now, but I’m feeling sick.  I’m on my way to the hospital to get checked out."

Ammiteo’s concern leaked into his tone.  “Do you think you caught a stomach virus while you were overseas?”

Idrisar shook his head.  “I don’t know, it could be food poisoning.  The fish they served on the plane was a bit suspect.  I’ll let you know as soon as I find out, okay?  I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Ammiteo.”

"That’s okay," soothed Ammiteo.  "Your health is more important than my plans."

* * *

 

Idrisar recognized the doctor they sent in to see him, and his brows went up.  “Dr. Ketus?”

The pewter-haired sire raised his sea-green eyes off the medical chart, and he gave Idrisar a gentle smile of recognition.  “Agent Blackbird.  I thought it would be a really strange coincidence if it wasn’t you, but your age is listed as two-hundred and eight.  Is that correct?”

Idrisar blinked in confusion.  “Er…yes.  Is that important?”

"Just surprising," answered the doctor, still looking at the chart.  "Dr. Hollas would have been the one to see you this evening, but he’s away on vacation."

More confused than ever, Idrisar decided he needed some clarification.  “Could we…back up for just a moment?  I thought you specialized in reproductive therapy.  I’m here because of food poisoning, or a virus…something has been giving me nausea fits for the past few days and it overwhelmed me tonight.”

Eredin nodded, his gentle gaze settling on him.  “True, reproductive therapy is my specialty, but I’m trained in other areas too.  Don’t worry, Mr. Blackbird, I’m qualified to care for you.  They referred you to me because of your situation.  What you’ve been experiencing isn’t due to a viral infection or food poisoning.”

Idrisar frowned.  “Then what is it?”  A horrible thought occurred to him.  “It isn’t cancer, is it?”

"Oh, no," assured the doctor.  "You’re perfectly healthy, in fact.  You…may want to take a seat, though."

Idrisar looked behind him at the examination table and he hopped onto it, regarding the man suspiciously.  He didn’t want to be rude and make demands, but the doctor’s evasiveness was making him nervous.  “If I’m not sick, then why am I suffering nausea.  Could it be nerves?  I’ve recently recovered from an…ordeal…and it did leave me shaken.”

Eredin shook his head.  “While nerves could account for it, that isn’t the most likely cause.  The reason I expressed surprise at your age is because of your blood test results.  Mr. Blackbird, you’re expecting.”

Idrisar stared dumbly at him.  “I beg your pardon?”

"You’re pregnant," elaborated Ketus.  "About nine weeks.  You should start to show, within a couple of weeks.  You haven’t experienced symptoms before now?"

Idrisar was absolutely floored, and he shook his head slowly back and forth, his eyes wide.  “No…I just thought traveling wasn’t agreeing with me this week.  You…you’re _sure_ about this?  Could it just be a false positive?”

"I double checked everything," answered Eredin.  "We can run more tests if you want, but it’s a bit early to check for any possible complications.  That usually gets done in the middle of the second trimester."

"Oh, Forests," Idrisar whispered in Nandarian, his hand settling over his abdomen.  He remembered, now; with both of his boys, he’d had evening sickness, rather than morning sickness.  His first mate had teased him about it, saying his body didn’t know how to tell time.

"I can see by your reaction that this was unplanned," guessed Ketus.  "And that just makes it more amazing.  I don’t want to insult you, but it’s a rare thing for a lifebearer in his 200’s to conceive.  I hope you can look at this as a blessing, and not a burden."

"Oh gods," Idrisar whispered, hardly hearing him.  "I had a drink."

"Pardon?"

"While I was in Zarn," explained the agent, feeling an uncommon edge of panic creeping in.  "I had a cocktail.  Vodka and cranberry juice."  He looked at the doctor pleadingly.  "Did I hurt the baby?"

Eredin shook his head and spoke in calming tones.  “No, not from just one drink.  If that was all it took to cause deformities, my entire generation would be in a sideshow.  They’ve somewhat exaggerated the dangers of alcohol consumption whilst pregnant, Mr. Blackbird.  In some places up north, they recommend a glass of red wine per day to help circulation.”

"B-but I had two drinks at a party a couple of weeks ago, too," Idrisar said.  "And I had a nightcap a few days ago."

"Mr. Blackbird, I assure you that unless you’ve gone on a binge, those isolated drinks aren’t likely to have harmed your fetus.  We can run tests later on as your pregnancy progresses, but please don’t stress over this.  You’re in better shape than most expecting parents I see in here, and I suspect you take good care of your body.  Just don’t put un-necessary strain on yourself, eat right and take the prenatal vitamins I’m going to prescribe to you.  Come in next week for another checkup, and we’ll set you up with a good pediatrician and work out a birthing plan with you."  He squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.  "It’s going to be okay.  Really."

Idrisar nodded convulsively and shut his eyes. 

"Just try to relax, while I go and fill out your prescriptions," suggested the doctor.  "I’ll bring you some reading material you can look at, along with a list of some good literary suggestions for expecting.  I see by your chart it’s been a while since your last time."

"Yes," agreed Idrisar, "It has.  I’ve forgotten what to do."

"We’ll refresh your memory," promised Eredin, and then he left him alone in the room. 

Idrisar looked down at his still-flat belly, mentally reviewing the events that led to this.  He was fairly sure he knew when he’d conceived.  It had to be during the week Ammiteo came and stayed with him in the temple.  They’d gone at it “like bunnies”, as his youngest son would have said.  Precautions weren’t even a consideration, at his age, and the mixing of fluids happened frequently during their many encounters. 

"The Spirit Keepers," he murmured.  "The work they did on me." 

He’d felt the heightening of his senses, and he’d heard stories about how spirit singers could enhance sexual pleasure and desire, if they so chose.  Tsyther’s attempted seduction of him was proof of that.  Now he was pregnant, and he doubted that could have happened under normal circumstances, even though he could make his body produce heat pheromones.  He couldn’t actually go into heat at will, and the work they’d done on him at the Chalice must have boosted his fertility and made him just receptive enough to conceive.

"I’m going to have another baby."  He stroked his stomach, and before he knew it, a smile began to curve his lips.  "I can give Ammiteo a child, after all."

The terror began to fade, and in its place was a kind of serenity Idrisar remembered feeling when he was pregnant with his first two sons.  He was still anxious about his recent alcohol consumption and he had no _idea_ how or when he would tell his lover the news, but overall, he was happy about this pregnancy.   

* * *

 

_About a week later:_

"Zev…oh…ahh..hah…ooh!" 

Sweaty, flushed and trembling with pleasure, Azurel breathlessly encouraged the sire pumping over him.  He had his arms crossed over one another on the surface of the bed and his ass was up in the air.  Zevian’s hands gripped his hips to hold him steady as he slid his thick length forward and back inside of him.  The two rings on the fingers of each hand dug into the lifebearer’s soft skin, but Azurel hardly felt it.  The pressure of his lover’s cock against that spot inside of him was so good, he could hardly concentrate on anything else.

"H-harder," whimpered Azurel, his need for satisfaction growing unbearable.  "Please, Zev…give it to me harder."

The sire hesitated, conscious of his size and the damage it could do if he wasn’t careful.  “If I pound your ass too hard, I’ll hurt you.”

"I trust you," insisted the lifebearer, looking over his shoulder at the man as well as he could, from his position.  "I promise I’ll let you know if it’s too much."

The guild lord considered him silently for a moment before giving in to his demands.  Zevian was good; he didn’t immediately change his pace.  Instead, he did it gradually, putting more force behind it a little at a time, until his hips were snapping firmly and his cock was driving into Azurel just hard enough to keep him on the brink of pain.  Zevian’s hands tightened on the lifebearer’s hips as Azurel’s cries of pleasure grew in volume and frequency.  He released his left hip and reached down and under to fondle his flushed erection as he took him, grunting encouragement to the panting lifebearer all the while. 

"Like that, baby?" Zevian gasped, his voice rough with pleasure and excitement.  "You like a good, hard fuck?"

"Zevian!"  The last thrust came in at just the right angle and Azurel wanted to feel it again like that.  "Right…there!  Unh!  Ahh!"

Always eager to please, the sire took the hint and kept it steady for him.  The forceful shoves of his dick hit the figurative “bulls-eye” unerringly and Zevian stopped fondling him briefly to squeeze the base of his own cock—a technique he liked to employ when he was in danger of coming before Azurel.  When he had it under control again, he resumed fondling the lifebearer.  He kept going until his efforts were rewarded.  Azurel’s back arched and his body went taut all over as he blew a shocking load all over Zevian’s hand and the bed sheets.  Had he been wearing a condom to contain the mess, it probably wouldn’t have been able to hold all of it. 

"Ooohhh…yes," moaned the lifebearer shakenly, his ass clenching rhythmically around Zevian’s sex as the sire drove deep into him and held it there.  He shook with the pleasure and he vaguely felt Zevian’s gasping kisses on his shoulder and the side of his neck as he rode his orgasm out.  The warm spurt of his lover’s seed and his grunts of pleasure soon assured him that Zevian was coming as well.  He felt the tips of the sire’s hair brush against his back as Zevian bowed over him, gasping for breath.

* * *

 

After taking a few moments to recover from their pleasure, the two lovers separated and scooted over to avoid the wet spot in the bed.  “I’ll change the sheet in a minute,” Azurel murmured, kissing Zevian’s thigh as he laid his head against it. 

Zevian propped his back against the headboard and he reached for the cigarette case on the bedside stand.  He procured a rolled up clove smoke from it and he lit it with a sigh of contentment, rubbing his companion’s naked bottom with his free hand.  He understood why Azurel didn’t want to wear a condom, even if it would have cut down on the mess.  Stroking him off would have still been possible with a rubber sheathing his cock, but the sensations would have been dulled.  When the lifebearer spoke again, however, he revealed a different reason for it.

"Next time, would you lube me with my come, Zevian?"

The mafia boss took a drag from his cigarette before holding it to his companion’s lips in offering.  “If you want me to.”

Azurel took a puff and nodded, rolling over to blow the clove-spiced smoke into the air.  “I think it’s really sexy and we’ve never done it that way, before.”

Zevian smirked.  Mixing semen inside was a good way to have an “oops” if a lifebearer was in a receptive enough state.  “Hmm.  Well, if that’s what you want, then that’s what you’ll get.” 

He took another drag and blew a couple of smoke rings into the air, before looking down at the pretty creature sprawled in bed with him.  He stroked his long, slightly tangled hair and he noticed the way Azurel began to squirm restlessly.  When the lifebearer turned onto his side, he saw evidence that he was ready for another go.  Zevian bent over a little to take an experimental whiff of the smaller man.  It was very faint, but he could detect that cloying scent wafting off his skin that indicated an increase in hormones and pheromones. 

"When was your last cycle, beautiful?"

"Er…around five months ago, I think," answered Azurel, looking at him a little warily.

Zevian tapped the cigarette on the ashtray to get rid of the ash on the tip.  He took another drag before offering it to the lifebearer.  When Azurel declined, he took one more drag and put the smoke out to finish later.  “You’re getting close to having another one, soon.  How bad do you want me to get you pregnant?”

Azurel flushed and looked away.  “I…don’t.”

Zevian laughed softly and gave him a gentle swat on the ass.  “You dropped a pacifier in my drink.  I’d hardly call that playing coy.”

"That was just a prank," protested the lifebearer vehemently, eyes widening convincingly.  "I was only picking on you, Zev."

Zevian considered him and he reached down to caress his face.  “But you’ve been thinking about it, haven’t you?  I know you want a kid.”

Azurel opened his eyes and squirmed so that he was half in the sire’s lap.  He started kissing his neck, his jaw and his chin.  “I didn’t want to pressure you, but yes.  Seeing that beautiful, tiny lifebearer in the hospital that day and holding him in my arms made me think of what it would be like for us.  We’d make a beautiful baby, too.  I understand your position, though.  I’m not going to try and trick you into anything.”

The guild lord smiled fondly.  Azurel was such a sensual creature, but at the same time, he had an air of innocence that he had never completely lost.  “I’m not a young lashran anymore, Azurel.  I’m set in my ways.  I don’t know how I would adapt to being a parent all over again.”

The lifebearer lowered his ruby gaze, but not before Zevian saw the disappointment and conflict in them.  “I know.  I knew you weren’t up for a family, when I got into this relationship with you.  I’ll try not to pressure you anymore.”

Zevian cupped his chin and urged him to lift his gaze.  “Look at me.”

Azurel obeyed, and Zevian examined his fey features for a few moments and thought things through before speaking again.  “When Agent Blackbird was here earlier this week, he had time for a little talk with me.  He said that if I really love you, I should consider giving this to you.”

Azurel swallowed.  “And?” 

His eyes were so soft and hopeful and vulnerable that Zevian couldn’t stand it.  He didn’t know if he was quite _there_ yet and perhaps he never would be—not the way Idrisar suggested.  Still, he’d come to accept the fact that he did love Azurel, and he didn’t want him to be unhappy.  Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

"Tsyther’s not a threat anymore and L’daris is out of the picture.  The guild is stable, business is good and the cash flow is steady.  I think we can swing it, if you really want a baby.  It’s not like I don’t have plenty of room in this house and we can—"

Azurel was kissing him before he could even finish speaking. 

* * *

 

-To be continued


	32. Chapter 32

* * *

Ammiteo looked across the table at his lover, and he tried to gather the courage to finish what he’d meant to do last week.  He never got the change to show Idrisar his surprise. First he’d been distracted by the lifebearer’s unexpected trip to the doctor, and then things got super busy at work.  Wolfe and Glaive were on assignment in Glass Haven, helping them deal with a string of anonymous bombings that had been going on. 

Of course, once they were away on their assignment, a bomb threat got phoned into the lashran medical center downtown, and Idrisar personally accompanied Vandrin and Lunvas to the scene, along with a bomb squad.  It turned out to be a bogus prank, and Idrisar was uncommonly furious about it.  He seemed to take it personally that someone would threaten the medical center, and when Ammiteo asked him why this particular incident bothered him so much, he replied that there were babies and children in that place.  Nobody should even threaten to endanger little ones, as far as he was concerned.

After that, things just stayed busy.  New agents had joined the ranks and Ammiteo and the new Knight director were both up to their eyeballs in administrative paperwork.  Idrisar had to take over weekly inspections for him, and as soon as Haden returned, he did the same for Stevenson.  The chaos lasted all week long, and Ammiteo decided as the weekend approached that he would try to present his surprise again, over dinner.  He took Idrisar out on a date after work, booking a table at one of the upper class restaurants on the north side of town.

"What are you thinking of having?"  Ammiteo asked.

Idrisar chewed his lower lip, his eyes scanning the menu.  “I’m not sure.  I’ve had a craving for seafood, but the price of the lobster is—”

"Don’t even look at the prices," insisted the sire, reaching across the table to lay a big hand over one of his.  "We’ve earned this evening.  Let me spoil you a little."

Idrisar smiled softly at him over the top of his menu, and he returned the pressure of his hand.  “I must say, this was a nice surprise.  I didn’t expect you to take me here, when you said you wanted to take me out to dinner.”

"I’ve heard good things about this place," said Ammiteo.  "And I wanted to take you somewhere special.  We don’t often get the chance to go out."

"No, we don’t," agreed Idrisar.  He looked Ammiteo up and down, his gaze softening with admiration.  "You do wear that suit well, too."

The sire felt his cheeks warm with appreciation for the compliment.  “Thank you.  I like your ensemble, too.  That color blue really brings out your eyes.”

Idrisar set the menu down for a moment to loosen the collar of the pale blue, button up shirt.  “Is it warm in here?”

"I’ll ask if they can adjust the temperature, when our server comes," offered Ammiteo.  As if summoned by his comment, a waiter approached and asked how the evening was treating them so far.  "Fine," assured Ammiteo, "but would it be at all possible to turn the thermostat down a touch?  It’s a bit warm in here."

"I’ll see what I can do, Sir," agreed the waiter.  "What will you have to drink with your meal, tonight?  Might I suggest a bottle of the house champagne, on ice?"

Ammiteo looked at Idrisar and shrugged.  He wasn’t really a champagne drinker, but this was a special night.  “Why not?”

"Actually," Idrisar said softly, "Could I just have ice water, instead?  I’m afraid I’m not in a drinking mood."

"Ice water for me too, then," said Ammiteo.  "For now."

"Very good.  Have you decided on any appetizers?"

Ammiteo looked at the menu, recalling Idrisar saying he had a craving for seafood.  “Two shrimp cocktails should do.”

Idrisar nodded in approval, and the waiter left to get their drinks and put in their appetizer order.  Ammiteo took advantage of the moment of privacy to reach across the table again and squeeze the other man’s hand.  Idrisar seemed to pick up on the vibe that he wanted to tell him something, and he gazed back at him curiously. 

"I never gave you the surprise I got for you," Ammiteo said.  He brushed his thumb back and forth over the top of Idrisar’s knuckles.

"Oh!  I had completely forgotten about that." 

One of those sweet smiles Ammiteo loved so much dimpled Idrisar’s cheeks, and he forgot what he was about to say. 

"Will you give it to me tonight?" Idrisar prompted when Ammiteo just stared.

He had an entirely different “it” in mind to give him, and the director shoved dirty thoughts from his mind and reminded himself why he’d arranged this date.  ”I want to, but first I need to tell you something.”

The waiter returned with their ice water and Ammiteo paused and thanked him.  He took a sip to moisten his suddenly dry mouth and he waited for the waiter to leave again before addressing his companion.  “Idrisar, I’ve wanted to talk about this for a while now, but things kept getting in the way.  Now, I’m just trying to figure out how to say it.”

Idrisar caressed his hand back.  “There’s something I need to tell you, too.”

"Then maybe you should go first," invited Ammiteo, getting flustered.  "It will give me a chance to work out what I want to say."

"Is it something bad?" Idrisar frowned, looking suddenly uncertain.

"Oh, nothing like that," assured Ammiteo.  "It’s just a little…I’m just a little nervous."

Idrisar smiled again. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.  I’m nervous about what I need to say to you too, but I don’t think I should wait any longer.”  He took a deep breath and had a sip of his water.  “Do you remember the discussions we’ve had about children?”

Ammiteo nodded.  “Yes.  I know you’re still concerned that I might change my mind some day, but don’t be.”  He took the lifebearer’s hand and pressed a kiss into the palm—a gesture he’d picked up after seeing Zevian Saber do it.  “I want to be with you, more than I’ve ever wanted a child.”

Idrisar bit his lip, and his accent got stronger as he struggled for words.  “The thing is, Ammiteo, I…that is, you…we…”  He trailed off and stumbled into silence as the waiter again returned, this time with the shrimp cocktails.

"Have you decided on entrees yet, gentlemen?"

Ammiteo glanced up at him.  “Not yet.  We need a bit more time, I’m afraid.”

"Of course, sir.  I’ll come back in a few moments, then."

Ammiteo thanked him.  Idrisar took a shrimp and dipped it into the spicy red sauce, but a grimace passed over his face as he started to bring it to his lips.  He sniffed at it and put it down, placing his hand over his stomach.  He checked his watch and sighed. 

"Right on time."

Ammiteo quirked a brow.  “What’s that?”

Idrisar licked his lips and shook his head.  “Nothing.  I’m just feeling a bit of nausea, suddenly.”

"Again?  I thought you were over that bug."

The pale blue eyes looked at him uncertainly.  “It…wasn’t a bug.  That was a fib, on my part.”

Ammiteo grew concerned.  “Idrisar, are you ill?  Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

"No," he said.  "I’m healthy as a horse, according to Dr. Ketus.  However, there is a reason for my nausea."

"Stress," guessed the director.  Feeling a little better about what he wanted to say now, he began to reach into the inner pocket of his dinner jacket.  He touched the case inside and he drew it out, decision made.  "But maybe this will cheer you up."

He produced the case and he opened it to display the silver bracelets inside.  “I want to bond with you.”

At the same time, Idrisar blurted: “I’m pregnant.”

They both went silent.  Ammiteo’s gaze dropped to Idrisar’s stomach.  Idrisar’s gaze fastened on the etched bracelets.

"You’re proposing?" asked the lifebearer.

"You’re pregnant?" muttered Ammiteo at the same time.

"Y-yes," replied Idrisar, his eyes still on the bracelets sitting before him on the table.  "It came as quite a shock to me when I found out last week.  I wanted to tell you right away, but I couldn’t decide how to do it."

"When did it happen?" asked the sire.  "How far along are you?"

"Ten weeks, now," answered Idrisar, finally lifting his eyes from the bracelets.  "We must have conceived during your visit to the Chalice.  I think all of the spiritual therapy must have affected my fertility."

"It can do that?"  Ammiteo blinked.  "Why haven’t the Spirit Keepers shared this information with the Council, then?  With our population concerns, they’d have people lined up for treatment, if it can help them get pregnant."

"But that’s not what their order is here for," reminded Idrisar with a little smile.  "And it’s not a guarantee.  After I found out I was expecting, I called Syndal and spoke with him about it.  He told me that an enhanced libido and fertility could sometimes result from being a recipient of the therapy, but it differs from person to person.  It isn’t a reliable form of reproductive therapy and that’s why they’ve never officially come forward with it."

"This is…incredible," Ammiteo said.  "I just can’t believe it.  Are you…happy?"

"Of course, I am," Idrisar assured him.  He pushed aside his appetizer and he reached across the table to take both of Ammiteo’s hands in his.  "I was shocked at first, and a little scared, but I’m a grown man with a home and a steady source of income, not a teenager.  How…do you feel about it?  I know you said you don’t want children, but—"

"But things have changed," finished Ammiteo.  "I’m sorry to interrupt, but it’s important that you know I’m going to be here for you and this baby."

Idrisar smiled hesitantly.  “Then you’re happy?”

Ammiteo didn’t have to think about it…not really.  Something he thought he’d never have was happening for him now, and it was happening with the lifebearer he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.  He nodded and he smiled at him.  “Yes.  I’m happy about it, Idrisar.  I know you’ll teach me how to be a good parent, when this child comes.  I’m not worried about that.”

"I think you’ll be a natural."  Idrisar’s eyes glistened and he blinked and looked away.  "Uh, pardon me…I’m getting emotional.  I was so worried you might react badly."

"Well, you can put that fear aside, now."  Ammiteo rubbed his hands, and he looked at the bracelets sitting in the open case.  "What I would like from you most right now is an answer to my question.  Will you consider bonding with me in Vashekna, Idrisar?"

The lifebearer’s gaze flicked to the bracelets.  “You don’t think it’s a little early for that?”

Ammiteo shook his head.  “We’ve been together for several months now, and we’ve endured being separated by an ocean.  We’ve fought at each other’s sides, trusted one another with our lives and worked together as partners.  I know we would be great together as spouses.  Besides, we’re going to be having a baby.  I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t bond with the father of my child.”

Idrisar gently picked up the case and examined the bracelets within.  They were simple, yet elegant pieces.  Ammiteo picked the design thinking it suited them both.  “At least I know you aren’t offering this because of the pregnancy,” Idrisar murmured.  “I would hate to feel like I trapped you.”

"Not at all."  Ammiteo watched him hopefully.  "I had no idea you were expecting, when I bought those.  I decided to get them because I love you, Agent Blackbird.  That’s all."

Idrisar raised his eyes off of the bracelets and met Ammiteo’s gaze.  “In that case, it would be a shame for these to go to waste.”

Ammiteo started to smile.  “Then you’ll do it?”

"Yes."  Idrisar nodded.  "I’ll bond with you."

The waiter returned again, looking at both men uncertainly as it became clear to him that they were having a deep conversation.  “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but if you’ve decided on an entrée, I’m happy to take your order.”

Idrisar grimaced again at the thought of food.  “I’m sorry,” he said—more to his lover than the waiter, “but my morning sickness comes at night.  I’m afraid I won’t be able to eat anything.”

"Then we’ll order our meals and have them packed up to bring home," suggested Ammiteo.  "You can have it for lunch, tomorrow."

"Clever idea," agreed Idrisar.  "In that case, I’ll order the lobster bisque."

"I’ll have the pepper steak," said Ammiteo after the waiter jotted down Idrisar’s order.  "Medium rare."

The waiter nodded.  “I’ll put the order in right away, sir, and I’ll have it placed in carry-out containers for you.”

Ammiteo thanked him again and he took one of Idrisar’s hands.  He began to rub the pressure points, as the lifebearer had done for him during flights when he started getting airsick.  “How’s this?” he asked.  “Am I doing it right?  Does it help at all?”

"Yes, actually."  Idrisar smiled at him.  "Thank you."

* * *

 

When he got called into Idrisar’s office the next day, the first thought that passed through Glaive’s mind was that he’d finally done something to push the Director over the edge of patience.  He was so used to getting into trouble for his actions that it didn’t even occur to him that this could be a positive meeting.  His wariness increased when he entered the office to find Ammiteo waiting there with his Exo.  Idrisar was just finishing up some kind of paperwork when the lishere came in, looking ridiculously attractive as always.  He looked up at Glaive and he offered him a quiet little smile.  Standing beside him, Ammiteo had one hand on the lifebearer agent’s shoulder and he too glanced up from the paperwork to regard their guest.

"Agent Glaive," greeted Idrisar, "please, have a seat."

He glanced at the leather-upholstered visitor chairs and he sat down in one of them, trying to appear casual.  He didn’t believe Idrisar would have smiled like that, if they were about to can him.  The man wasn’t exactly an open book, though.  As the most respected Ulvari agent on the payroll—perhaps even on the entire continent—Idrisar was adept as masking his intentions and feelings.  The temptation to try and read his spirit was strong, but Glaive resisted it.  He held Idrisar in high regard, and he wouldn’t invade his privacy like that, after what he’d already been through with Sandman.

Idrisar handed up the paperwork to Ammiteo, who took it, looked it over and nodded.  The big sire’s purple gaze met Glaive’s, and he picked up a velvet-lined box from the desk and circled around to offer it to the lishere.

"What’s this?" Glaive asked as he took the box.

"Open it," urged Ammiteo.

More nervous than he cared to admit, Glaive fell back on old, bad habits.  “Look mate, I’m flattered, but I thought you had something special with Blackbird.  We aren’t each others’ type.”

Idrisar sighed.  “Just open the box, Agent.”

Even Glaive knew when to shut up and do as he was told.  “Yes Sir.”  He opened the box with a grimace, as if it contained a beast that would jump out at him the moment the light touched it.  What he found instead was a medal.  He frowned and stared at it.  The circular medal had a purple ribbon laced through the hole in the top of it.  Inscribed in the medal was the symbol of the Ulvari-Vash, and written in Lashran beneath that were the words: “Heart of Valor, Agent Glaive.”

The lishere blinked his coral-pink eyes, certain that he was reading it wrong.  “What’s all this?”

"It’s a medal of valor," answered Idrisar, smiling again.  "I thought you could read the Rhuidian dialect, Agent Glaive."

"I can," he confirmed, still baffled, "I just wonder if there’s been some mistake."

"There hasn’t been any mistake," assured Ammiteo.  "It’s an official medal, recognized by the highest authority.  Your efforts during the Sandman case didn’t go un-noticed."

Unused to such praise, Glaive struggled for words.  “I doubt I did anything the other agents didn’t do as well.”

"Not true," insisted Ammiteo.  "Your assistance had a key part in resolving this matter."

Glaive snorted.  “If by that you mean our success in luring him here—”

"He _means_ your conduct,” interrupted Idrisar, “both on the field and out.  You stepped up when the director needed an Exo to replace me, and your insight on the perpetrator helped bring him down.  Allow yourself to accept the praise due to you, Agent Glaive.  You’ve earned it, and you know I don’t give it unless I truly believe the subject is worthy of it.”

Glaive nodded in concurrence.  “Of course.  Well then, far be it from me to stay humble.  I kicked ass.”  Recalling how Tsyther actually fell, he revised his statement a second later.  “Or rather, that exotic young dancer of Saber’s kicked ass.  I was sorry to miss my chance.”

Idrisar nodded.  “Yet it was only with your aid that we were able to corner him at all, and for that, you deserve some recognition.”

"We considered organizing a ceremony for you," Ammiteo said.  At Glaive’s horrified expression, he smirked.  "But we decided against it, presuming you would prefer not to make this a public awarding." 

"We could _still_ organize something, if we were wrong about that,” offered Idrisar.  His pale blue eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as Glaive shook his head.  “I thought not.  The important thing is the threat from Sandman is over with, now.  We can all move on…which brings me to the next point of interest.  Agent Glaive, an opportunity stands before you now, and I’d like you to think carefully about it, before turning it down.”

Glaive frowned.  “What sort of opportunity?  If it involves transferring away from Valkyrie Falls, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you.”

"No, it’s nothing like that," assured Idrisar.  "This is a promotional opportunity here, in our branch.  Interested?"

The lishere’s suspicions came back.  “First tell me what the opportunity is.  I can’t say ‘yay’ or ‘nay’ until I know.”

"Fair enough," agreed Ammiteo.  He picked up the paperwork on Idrisar’s desk and he offered it to Glaive.  "I’m going to need a new executive officer.  Agent Blackbird is resigning from the position."

Glaive looked from the paperwork in his hands to Idrisar, his smooth features betraying shock.  Looking into the timeless blue eyes and remembering everything Tsyther had done to him, he thought he understood.  His shock faded into regret.  “That bad, is it?”

"I’m not leaving the guild," explained Idrisar softly.  Ammiteo returned to his side and laid a protective hand on his shoulder, and the lifebearer reached up to lay one of his hands over it.  "I’m only quitting field work, at least for a while."

"Well, being the executive officer can be an office job," Glaive pointed out.  "Hence the term ‘executive’.  What else do you intend to do?"

"I’m going to instruct."  Idrisar smiled quietly, his other hand reaching down to settle over his abdomen.  "I’ll train the lower ranks and hopefully, help them improve both physical and mental skills.  We’ve lacked a good training program for the Ulvari here for some time now."

"With Idrisar as their instructor, they’re bound to become better agents," Ammiteo said with proud confidence—to which his companion blushed slightly and lowered his gaze.

"I don’t understand," admitted Glaive, again tempted to try and read Idrisar’s spirit.  There was more to this than they were letting on, he was certain of it.  "Yes, our training program could use some improvement, but you’re _bloody good_ at the job you’re doing now, Blackbird.  I could understand if you wanted a break from the agency after your ordeal, but to step down?  With all due respect, have you thought this through?”

"Thoroughly," assured Idrisar.  "I appreciate your sentiments, Glaive, but the decision is made and I’ve already made the arrangements.  In two weeks, I’ll be stepping down and _someone_ will take my place as second in command.  Ammiteo and I would very much like for that someone to be you.”

"That’s another thing I’m not so sure you’ve thought through," Glaive said.  "You both _do_ remember how many mark-ups I earned, this year alone?  Am I really the sort of agent you want at the top of the chain?”

"Granted, you need more discipline," agreed Ammiteo, "there’s no doubt about that.  Your performance during the Sandman case has convinced us that you’re capable, however."

"And this guild could use an agent that isn’t afraid to take risks," added Idrisar, "or even bend the rules a bit, when necessary.  Look at what we had to resort to, in order to resolve the Sandman issue.  The Director and I are convinced that there may be another time in the future when we may need that sort of initiative again, and we could use a conniving mind in the top ranks."

"A ‘conniving mind’, is it?"  Glaive smirked and set the papers on his lap with his medal, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Well, yes."  Idrisar shrugged.  "Had we followed protocol to the book, our suspect would still be at large and your partner might be dead, right now.  We both know it’s a risk, but Ammiteo and I pulled a lot of strings to get the approval we need to make it official.  We believe you can do this, if you put your mind and heart into it.  All we require is your signature."

Glaive looked down at the papers again, and he started to flip through them.  “You’re both mad, you know that?”

"Sometimes a good idea can seem like madness, at first."  Idrisar smiled at him.  "What say you, Agent?"

Glaive sighed.  “I…need to take a night or two and think about this.  You’re asking a man who’s used to being a rebel to step up and be responsible, and what’s more; you’re asking personnel that still clings to their prejudice to take orders from a ‘freak’.”

Idrisar and Ammiteo both nodded.  “We’re aware of that,” answered the Director.  “We never claimed it would be easy, but we both feel that it’s ultimately worth it.”

"Hmm."  Glaive still had his doubts, but considering that these two were counted amongst the most level-headed lashran he’d ever met, he thought they must know what they were doing.  "May I just ask why exactly you’re doing this, Agent Blackbird?  And Director, I’m surprised you’re allowing it."

They looked at one another, and something special passed between them that had Glaive’s senses tingling.  Idrisar looked across the desk at Glaive again and he offered a shocking explanation.  “I’m expecting.”

The lishere blinked.  “Expecting?  As in, a baby?”

Idrisar raised a dark brow, his gaze slightly annoyed behind the oval lenses of his glasses.  “And what else did you think I would be expecting, Agent?  A pumpkin, perhaps?”

Remembering that Idrisar could be quite ruthless when his patience was tried, Glaive stammered an excuse.  “W-well, it’s just unexpected news…this expecting.  At your age—and by that, I mean—”

"You’ve got him flustered," observed Ammiteo to his smaller companion, his chiseled features finally relaxing into something resembling amusement.  His eyes met Glaive’s.  "You should stop while you’re ahead, Agent.  We know how rare this situation is."

"Yes, I’m very aware that I’m past the prime breeding years," muttered Idrisar, his deceptively youthful features amused and irritated at once.  "And that is precisely why I need to abstain from—"

"You’re a bit tardy on the abstinence," interrupted Glaive before he could stop himself.  At the glare Idrisar shot his way, he cringed and muttered an apology.  "I take it I don’t need to question who the sire is?"  He asked, changing the subject.  His coral gaze slid to the powerful sire at Idrisar’s side.

"No, there’s no need to ask," answered the lifebearer.  He combed his dark hair away from his eyes with his fingers and he took one of the pens from the holder on his desk, absently twirling it between his fingers.  "As I was saying, I’m aware of the rarity of my condition at my age, and that is why I need to avoid overly strenuous activity.  Part-time instruction is the best option for me now, if I want to stay involved with the agency."

Glaive nodded.  “I understand.  Now that I know this, I have to say I think you’re making the smart choice.”

Idrisar relaxed again, dropping the pen back into its holder.  “Thank you.  You should also be aware that Ammiteo and I are going to be getting bonded next week.”

A pale brow raised, unconsciously mimicking Idrisar’s earlier expression.  “That didn’t take long.”

"Lashran incubation doesn’t take long," reminded Ammiteo.  "We would have waited until next year, if it weren’t for Idrisar’s condition.  I don’t want to put it off."

"I don’t blame you," answered Glaive.  The Director was, after all, an old-fashioned sort and Idrisar deserved to be treated with the utmost respect.  "Are you going to announce this engagement to the rest of the agency, or am I meant to keep this under my hat?"

They glanced at each other again.  “We’ll be sending out invitations soon,” answered Ammiteo.  “It isn’t going to be a large affair.  Idrisar and I have agreed to keep it simple, with only a small audience.”

"We’ll be giving our Vashekna vows in Central park, over the weekend," said Idrisar.  "I know it’s short notice, but this is ultimately about Ammiteo and I pledging ourselves to each other.  I think people will understand if we don’t make this a big affair."

"That makes sense."  Glaive felt suddenly giddy, and he cautiously reached out with his senses.  He could feel the new life in Idrisar, and he started to grin.  "I have to say, I never pictured you with a pregnant waddle, Agent Blackbird."

"Well, you’ll be picturing it easily enough, in a few months," sighed Idrisar.  "Just don’t allow it to trick you into believing I can be pushed around."

"Of course not," agreed Glaive.  "A pregnant Idrisar has to be far more deadly than the other kind."

Ammiteo’s mouth twitched, and he coughed into his hand.  “For my sake, I hope you’re wrong about that.”

* * *

 

Later that night, Glaive and Haden went home together to his apartment.  Haden noticed his tension as the lishere started looking through the phone directory on his cell to choose a good takeout place for dinner. 

"What’s the matter, bud?"

Glaive glanced up from his phone, his gaze sweeping over the augmented human with subtle admiration.  “I’ve been offered a promotion.  Oh, and then there’s this.”  He reached into his jacket pocket and procured the little box given to him by the Director.  He dropped it on the countertop and slid it Haden’s way. 

With a curious look in his silver-gray eyes, Haden set his beer aside and opened the box.  A bright smile grew on his lips as he saw the contents, and he looked at Glaive with pride.  “Dude, you got a _medal_!  Why didn’t you tell me?”

Glaive shrugged, a little embarrassed. “Because it feels like a ‘guilt gift’.”

Haden’s dark brows furrowed.  “A what?’

The lishere tugged the hairband holding his ponytail free, and he combed his fingers through the long mass of silver-white to loosen it.  “A guilt gift.  Something given not because the recipient earned it, but because the gifting party needs to assuage their guilt.”

"What kind of ‘guilt’ do you think the Director and Blackbird have?"  Haden looked honestly puzzled, his dark, tumbled hair falling over his left eye as he tilted his head curiously. 

"Let’s just say that if I were a ‘pure’ lashran or a human, they might not have seen fit to give me a medal for doing my job."

Haden’s frown deepened.  “That’s crazy talk, Glaive.  You did a damned good job when the poo hit the fan.  I can see why you’d think that if it were somebody else, but those guys aren’t like that.  They’ve always valued your skills over your heritage.  You should know that.”

Glaive sighed.  He found the takeout place he was looking for, and he highlighted it with his thumb.  “I’d like to think you’re right about that, but I failed to complete my objective.  An outlaw and a former prostitute took care of Tsyther before I could make it there.”

Haden shrugged.  “But you helped make that happen.  Does it matter who brought him down?  He’s gone now.  We can get on with our lives.”

Glaive forced a smile at him, resisting the urge to reach out and ruffle that perpetually tumbled, raven hair affectionately.  “Can I borrow some of that optimism of yours sometime, mate?”

"Sure, I’ve got more than I need, anyway."  Haden put his beer down and he circled around the counter.  He reached out to stroke Glaive’s hair, his pale gaze admiring on the long, silken length.  "So tell me about this promotion.  They aren’t trying to send you away, right?"

Glaive shook his head, his gaze lowering as a smirk curved his mouth.  “Like hell.  I made it abundantly clear that I won’t be leaving this city…at least, not without my partner.”

"Thatta boy," approved Haden with a grin.  He reached for his beer.  "So what’s it all about?"

"They want me to take Agent Blackbird’s place as Ammiteo’s executive officer."

Haden spit his beer out.  He hastily wiped his mouth and coughed.  “ _What_?”

"Nice."  Glaive tried not to laugh at him.  "But that would have been my reaction too, I’m afraid…had I been drinking when they told me."

"W-why?  I mean, no offense, but did they both get a sudden case of amnesia or something?"

"I know, and I asked them the same question—in different words.  They seem to think my rebellious streak could come in handy some day, if we ever find ourselves in another fix like the Sandman issue.  Aside from that, they’re operating under the delusion that I can temper myself and be responsible when necessary."

Haden snorted.  “Suckers.”

Glaive gave him a nudge that made him stumble.  “You don’t have to agree so thoroughly with me, Wolfe.”

Haden laughed and put the beer down.  He hugged the lishere before Glaive could pull away.  “Sorry.  I’m not being a very good boyfriend or partner, am I?  Is this better?”

Glaive sighed and hugged him back.  “I suppose.”  He smiled against his hair and he nuzzled his ear.  “You can make it up to me in the bedroom, after we’ve had dinner.  At any rate, I haven’t decided whether to take the offer, or not.  There has to be someone more appropriate for the job than I am.”

Haden grimaced and pulled back to look at him.  “Seriously?  Let’s go over the list of Ulvari agents.  Can you pick one—even _one_ —you wouldn’t mind having authority over you?”

Glaive’s face fell.  He mentally reviewed each and every one of his fellow Ulvari and he had to admit, the thought of any of them having the powers of an Exo made him cringe.  Conversely, they would probably find it just as jarring for _him_ to have authority over _them_.

As if he’d read his mind, Haden offered another slice of wisdom.  “I’m not usually ‘revenge guy’, but think of the karma, here.  None of them can pick on you again, if you’re their Exo.  The only one you’ll have to answer to is the Director, unless you screw up so badly they send someone in from one of the ruling branches. That’s going to stick in their craw for sure, and I _know_ you like that thought.”

Glaive began to grin.

* * *

 

When Zevian got the news that Idrisar was getting hitched, he struggled with an interesting conflict of feelings.  He was happy for him, certainly, but his lingering attraction to him made jealousy a harsh disrupter of that happiness.  Azurel was absolutely thrilled with the news, of course.  They wouldn’t be able to make it to Valkyrie Falls in time to witness the Vashekna, so Zevian contented himself with contacting Idrisar via internet communication, and they set up a video channel to chat.  He allowed Azurel into his study to talk to him as well, and it was a bit like a conference, without the business aspect.

"So what did he do to convince you to bond with him?" Zevian pressed.  He’d gotten the distinct impression that Idrisar wasn’t interested in taking another spouse, after losing his first the way he did.

"What makes you think he needed to ‘convince’ me?" answered the Ulvari agent dryly, his attractive features a mask of calm on the screen.  "He took me out to dinner, he asked, and I accepted."

"Wow," sighed Azurel, practically grinning from ear to ear.  "Was it romantic?  I’ll bet it was romantic.  I’m sorry…I’m being a gossip."

"Calm down, kid," muttered Zevian uneasily.  The last thing he needed was for Azurel to get more ideas about their future in his pretty head.  He was already compromising more than he ever intended and he could only take so much.

"What, I’m happy for them, is all!"  Azurel waved him away like a nuisance, and he looked back at the lashran agent on the screen.  "So have you gotten the bracelets yet?"

Idrisar nodded.  “Yes, we have the bracelets.  It’s really going to be a small ceremony…hardly noteworthy.”

"It seems like you’ve rushed it," Zevian mused.  He peered at Idrisar thoughtfully, taking in little details about his expressions, his voice and his body language.  Something was different about him.  His hair—kept trimmed in that style with the bangs slightly long that looked so good on him—seemed a little shinier than usual.  His eyes appeared brighter.  His skin even seemed to have a glow that…

It struck him suddenly, why Idrisar and Ammiteo would choose to bond on such short notice.  It had taken them _months_ just to start getting busy with the romance.  They weren’t the kind of people to rush a commitment…especially not one of this magnitude.

"Holy shit, you’re knocked up."

Idrisar’s eyes widened behind the lenses of his glasses, and Azurel stared at the guild lord as if he’d sprouted a second head.  “I…beg your pardon?”

"Zev, that’s not only rude, it’s crazy," muttered Azurel.  "What’s the _matter_ with you?  Can’t you just believe they love each other and want to be together?”

"I can believe that," agreed Zevian thoughtfully, scratching his chin.  His aqua cat eyes stayed fixated on Idrisar’s image.  "But it’s too rushed.  The Blackbird I know would have insisted on waiting a year or more before finalizing it.  Something’s got him in a hurry, and believe it or not, unexpected buns sometimes make it into lashran ovens, too."

"But he’s…well, he’s…" Azurel trailed off and bit his lip.

"Old?" supplied Idrisar with a smirk.

"I…didn’t say that."  Azurel was blushing charmingly.  "Elders are old.  You’re just not…well, parent aged for a lifebearer."

"That’s what I thought too," sighed the agent, "but Zevian is right.  This wasn’t planned, and Ammiteo didn’t know when he proposed.  I would have waited, but…well, the circumstances don’t really allow it."

"You’re really expecting?"  Azurel’s ruby gaze widened.  "Seriously?"

"Yes, I’m really expecting.  I’m about ten weeks along, and I’m beginning to show.  I have a rather strange request for you two, on that matter."

Zevian’s mind was stuck on the image of Idrisar with a baby bump.  “That’s ridiculously fucking adorable.”

Idrisar’s brows went up.  “You find it adorable that I want to ask you something?”

The guild lord shook his head, his braids swaying with the motion.  “No, the thought of you with a pregnant waddle is.”

"Why do people keep saying that?" sighed Idrisar.  "Will you please listen?"

"Right, listening."  Zevian tried to ignore the annoyed look his lover gave to him.  "What’s on your mind, Blackbird?"

"I want you to be the baby’s godparents."

Zevian stared at him.  “Bullshit.”

"Zev!"  Azurel frowned in disapproval at him, and then he softened his expression and looked back at Idrisar.  "Of course, we’ll be godparents, Agent Blackbird.  Don’t listen to _him_.”

"Hold the phone," urged Zevian, still perplexed over Idrisar’s request.  "Why would you—an agent of the law—want _me_ —an outlaw—as a godfather to your bundle of joy?  There _has_ to be a better candidate somewhere.”

Idrisar smiled at him, making Zevian’s heart clench in that annoying way he’d come to associate with the attractive Ulvari agent.  “There aren’t.  Oh, you won’t be the _only_ godparents, I assure you.  We’ve agreed that my son Sefon and his family would be our first choice.  As for the second, I choose you.”

Zevian tilted his head.  “Why?  I won’t repeat the reasons I question you.”

Idrisar sobered, his pale blue gaze solemn.  “Because I want someone that will be ruthless, if necessary.  I want someone whom I know would kill for my child’s safety, Zevian.  I can’t think of anyone better than you.”

The guild lord shut his eyes for a moment, subjected to a rush of feelings for Idrisar that he couldn’t stomp out if he wanted to.  Azurel was quietly supportive at his side, watching with resolved ruby eyes as he turned things over in his head.  The dancer was no fool.  He knew what Zevian harbored in his heart for Idrisar, and Zevian was sure he only put up with it because he knew the agent was no threat to their relationship.

"I’m your man," Zevian said at last, opening his eyes.  He flashed a rogue-ish smile at Idrisar’s image, and he winked.  "You can count on me, kid."

"I knew I could."  Idrisar smiled back.  His gaze went to the lifebearer at Zevian’s side.  "Azurel?  This is your decision, too.  You would be the child’s godparent as well, and I trust you to give him the love and care he deserves, should anything happen to us that would put him in your care."

Azurel nodded.  “Absolutely, Agent Blackbird.  I love children and I’d care for him as my own—ancestors forbid anything ever happen to you.”

Idrisar nodded in satisfaction.  “That’s what I wanted to hear.  I thank you both.”

"So you really don’t care that we’re on opposite sides of the law?" pressed Zevian.  "And what does your director have to say about your choice?"

"Ammiteo understands that our child’s future is more important than that," insisted Idrisar.  "Sometimes, it takes a criminal to get things done.  Besides…we Ulvari aren’t as moral as you make us out to be, remember?  We’re assassins, at the core."

Zevian grinned again, remembering how stunned Idrisar had been, the first time he reminded him of that little historical fact.  “Right.  Well, far be it from me to contradict an assassin’s decision.”

"Not if you know what’s good for you."  Idrisar smirked.

"Um, not to split hairs or anything," Azurel said cautiously, "but that reminds me; what will you do about your job?  I know your line of work is dangerous.  That’s why you and Ammiteo have chosen god parents, isn’t it?"

Idrisar’s smile dropped, and he nodded solemnly.  “Yes.  It’s very important that we have things organized, so that this child will have protection and care if anything happens to us.  It’s one of the first things an agent should consider, when starting a family.”

"Then should you still be working for the agency, while you’re pregnant?"  Azurel winced.  "I know it isn’t my business, but—"

"Don’t worry," Idrisar assured him, smiling fondly.  "I’m retiring from the field to have and raise this baby.  I’ll still work part-time as an instructor, but I’d like to have more time with this child than I could grant to my other two sons.  I may return to a position as a field agent in a few years, once my son is in his teens."

"Oh, good."  Azurel sighed in relief, smiling.  "I didn’t want to seem like I advocate oppression, or anything."

"Not at all," answered the agent with a chuckle.  "Chasing down terrorists and being in the middle of armed combat is no place for a pregnant person, of either race.  Even I can agree with that.  This will likely be my last child, so I want to do everything possible to ensure he’s safely delivered into this world."

"Kid couldn’t ask for a better father," said Zevian sincerely.  "Congratulations, Agent."

Idrisar lowered his gaze humbly—an old habit of Nandarian upbringing that had never completely abandoned him.  “Thank you.”

* * *

 

The Vashekna ceremony took place that weekend, as planned.  Sefon and his family flew in to attend, but Bowen couldn’t make it all the way from Nandar in time.  He and Nithander sent gifts, instead.  Both of Idrisar’s sons were happily surprised by the news that they would be welcoming a half-sibling into the world in a few months, and Bowen was quite pleased to hear that his father would be taking a desk job while raising the child.  Idrisar chose not to hear the condescending note in his voice when they talked over the phone and Bowen told him how relieved he was over his decision.  The more time he spent living in Nandar, the more old fashioned Bowen’s principles seemed to get—and not in a good way.

Aside from Sefon’s family, the only attendants to the ceremony were people from the agency.  They had sent invitations to Vurkanan and Aurora’s last known location, but the pair didn’t show up.  Instead, a beautiful bouquet of flowers and a pair of crystal wine glasses arrived at Ammiteo’s office the day after, with a card bearing the flowing handwriting of Vurkanan Darshaw.  He expressed his regret for being unable to attend, and he congratulated the couple on their vows and the impending birth of their child.  He said that he and Aurora had other business to attend in Zarn, and he hoped to see them again some day.

"They’re a mysterious pair, aren’t they?" mused Idrisar as he finished reading the card. 

Ammiteo nodded, lifting one of the fine crystal glasses to let the sunlight filtering in through the window sparkle on it.  “They made things more…interesting.  We might not have succeeded, if it weren’t for them.”

"True," agreed the lifebearer. 

He put the card back down on Ammiteo’s desk, and he paused at the sight of his Vashekna bangle slipping down his wrist.  He admired the silver, engraved piece of jewelry for a moment, and then he looked at Ammiteo.  The director looked back at him and he noticed the way Idrisar’s cheeks began to flush faintly, in that charming way that signified either lust or embarrassment.  Since Idrisar didn’t easily reveal the latter of the two, he assumed the heightened color was due to arousal.  A glance down at the crotch of Idrisar’s tailored pants confirmed it.

"You know," Idrisar said conversationally, his voice taking on the Nandarian purr that made sires melt, "it occurs to me that in another month, my libido could drop significantly."

"Oh?"  The news didn’t inspire happiness, but it was common knowledge that some lifebearers experienced a diminished sex drive in the later stages of incubation.  "Well, there’s no help for it.  I hope you know I’ll never pressure you to do anything if you aren’t in the mood, Idrisar."

"That was never in question."  Idrisar circled around to the other side of the desk, and he bent over the director as he began to rub his broad shoulders.  He murmured into Ammiteo’s pointed ear, his breath stirring the spiked, ashen gold hair in passing.  "I was going to suggest we take advantage of my passion, while it still remains intact.  Lock the door, Ammiteo."

The director’s groin hardened quickly in response to the seductive request.  His lunch break was nearly over and he still had a mountain of file work to do, but he couldn’t bring himself to pass up any opportunity to make love with his new spouse.  Deciding to enjoy every sexual encounter presented to him while Idrisar was still in the “horny” stage of pregnancy, he pressed the button on the newly installed remote locking feature, and he swiveled his chair.  Idrisar climbed deftly into his lap before he was even completely turned around, and his mouth was hot an insistent against Ammiteo’s as he kissed him. 

Whoever claimed that lifebearer sexuality tapered off after the “prime childbearing years” was dead wrong.  

* * *

 

While Idrisar and Ammiteo were making changes to prepare for the child they were expecting, Zevian and Azurel continued to try unsuccessfully to create their own.  The dancer’s fertility cycle came and went without resulting in conception, unfortunately.  Zevian did his damndest to do his part, drawing on hidden reserves of stamina to keep up with his lover’s nearly desperate passion.  Azurel wanted a baby of his own so badly, and Zevian wondered if he’d made a mistake by agreeing to try for one.  Now the young man’s hopes were up, and he was borderline obsessive about getting pregnant. 

The doctors assured that Azurel was fertile enough to conceive, but for some lashran couples, it took years of trying before meeting success.  Only the most receptive lifebearers conceived easily, and Idrisar was obviously one of them.  Poor Azurel was average.  He wasn’t super fertile, nor was he barren.  Zevian brushed it off with a charming smile when Azurel fretted over it, promising him that they’d keep trying until he was good and knocked up. 

"It’ll happen when it’s ready to happen, babe," reasoned the guild lord.  "You’ve got almost two whole human generations ahead of you before you need to start worrying about running out of time.  Just try to relax and let it happen naturally."

They were pretty words, but Azurel guiltily admitted to him one night that he didn’t think it was fair for Idrisar to get pregnant by accident at his age, when he couldn’t even get pregnant on purpose in his most fertile years.  Zevian stroked the dancer’s lustrous, hip-length hair and he advised him to forgive himself for his envy.  From what he understood, it was natural for people trying to conceive to feel a bit jealous of those who managed it without any effort.

Zevian did his best to be supportive, but when Idrisar sent him a digital photo of himself with the first sign of a baby bump, he was too afraid to show it to Azurel.  As he suspected, the Ulvari agent looked fucking adorable in an obviously pregnant state.  Idrisar wore a light blue turtleneck sweater in the image, as it was now winter in that part of the world.  A pair of loose, stonewashed denim pants and fleece boots completed the ensemble, and his hands rested on his gently rounding tummy.  Looking at the photo and the belly expansion, Zevian estimated that Idrisar had about another three months to go—perhaps a little less. 

Idrisar had spent months in the care of the Spirit Keepers, before getting pregnant.  The last time Zevian spoke to him over the phone, he suggested that the therapy they did on him might have heightened his fertility enough to conceive.  Having heard other tales of alleged fertility boosts through spirit singing before, Zevian began to contemplate the possibility of trying himself.  He’d come a long way in his training, and he believed that he could dismiss Matthias by the end of the year, if his progress kept up.  First, however, he needed to find out if there was any truth to the rumors about spirit singing increasing conception chances.

* * *

 

"Are you ready to begin today’s session, Mr. Saber?"

Zevian nodded at the white-robed Keeper.  Today, Matthias had his pale blond hair hanging loose to his mid-back, with the sides pinned back with ivory combs.  It was a flattering look for him.  Zevian followed him into the center of the exercise room, after making sure the doors were locked.  He waited for the lifebearer to take his seat, crossing his legs as he sat down on the mat.  Zevian sat down before him, crossing his legs in the same way, and he rested his wrists on his knees.  The material of his cream-colored track pants stretched with his motions.  He was bare-chested, as the strain of doing these mental and spiritual exercises tended to overheat his body, fast.

"You’ve come a long way," murmured Matthias.  His violet eyes scanned Zevian briefly, and the admiration in them as they roved over his bared torso wasn’t lost on the guild lord.  "Your training is nearly complete.  You could become what your sire was meant to be, Zevian."

"Yeah," answered Zevian, as nonchalantly as possible, "Maybe I could.  We’ll see.  I’ve got a question for you, though."

"What is it?"  Matthias tilted his head curiously, his shiny hair glinting in the light. 

"A friend of mine recently spent a few months with your order," answered the guild lord.  "He’s an Ulvari agent, from Avras."

"Agent Blackbird."  Matthias nodded, smiling a little.  "Yes, I remember.  I quite like him."

"Get in line."  Zevian grinned.  "Anyway, he recently found out he’s pregnant.  He’s past the average fertility age for a lifebearer, but he thinks the work your people did on him might have given him the ‘boost’ he needed to conceive, even though he wasn’t trying.  I’ve heard rumors about this kind of thing before.  Can you confirm it at all?"

Matthias hesitated before answering, choosing his words with obvious care.  “It _is_ possible for those of us with the song to use it to…enhance…certain senses.  Why do you ask this?”

Zevian grimaced.  “I was curious.  Azurel wants a baby, and I wondered if I could…you know…use my abilities to make that happen faster.”

"Your dancer is quite young," reminded Matthias.  "He shouldn’t require such aid to conceive.  Has he been to a doctor?"

"Yeah, he’s been checked out and they say he’s got the average chance of conception.  He’s just a little desperate right now."

"And it’s troubling you," guessed the spirit singer sympathetically.  "I’ve noticed your tension…your distraction.  I’ve avoided saying anything, but now I see why.  Your dancer lacks patience, Zevian.  It will happen, one day or another."

Zevian shrugged.  “I’d rather it happen sooner, so he can stop stressing.”

"Have you considered that part of the reason he’s having difficulty conceiving is _because_ he’s ‘stressing’ over it?”

The guild lord chuckled and nodded.  “The thought crossed my mind.  Look, I just want to know if you can teach me how to use my powers that way.”

"I can show you how to maximize sexual pleasure and reactions," answered Matthias, looking away.  "I can show you how to enhance his senses, which may increase libido and receptiveness.  This won’t guarantee fertilization, however.  His incubation chamber will accept new life when it’s ready to, and it doesn’t matter how many seeds you attempt to plant before then."

"But there’s still a chance this could help him conceive, right?"

The lifebearer nodded.  “Yes.  We don’t like to advertise it, because then we would have desperate couples invading our temple, begging for treatment.  It’s no miracle, Mr. Saber.  It’s merely an aid, much like the various enhancement medication already available.”

"I understand," assured Zevian.  "So show me.  What do I do to help him get to that state?"

"Shut your eyes and listen to my voice," answered Matthias.  "Open yourself up to me.  I will…demonstrate…the technique to you, and then help you return it to me."

Zevian noticed the blush before Matthias ducked his head, and a part of him wondered if this was such a good idea.  By the sounds of it, they were about to do some kind of spiritual make-out session.  He almost chickened out, but then he thought of the look on Azurel’s face every time he saw or heard a baby, and he sighed.

"Let’s do it."

* * *

 

Matthias worried that this was a mistake, even as he began his work and instructed the handsome guild lord.  ”As you know, singing to the spirit can be as much an art as a talent,” he said softly, watching Zevian’s face as he spoke.  “You can…determine the method of your ‘touch’, just as you can with your hands and…other body parts.”

Thankfully, Zevian’s eyes were shut, so he didn’t see the blush growing on Matthias’ face.  He nodded and spoke back in a murmur.  “I get that.  Go on.”

"If your friend did conceive as a result of his spirit therapy, it was an unintended side-effect, likely caused by heightened senses.  It _is_ possible to deliberately enhance a subject’s…erotic senses…without actually manipulating them.”

Zevian frowned and cracked his eyes open.  “You mean the way my old man did to him.  He tried to force himself on him, that way.”

Matthias nodded, well aware of the trauma inflicted on Agent Blackbird whilst under Tsyther’s control.  He’d participated in some of the cleansing sessions, after all.  Part of the reason Idrisar’s therapy took as long as it did was because he was naturally disinclined to open up, and he instinctively fought against the anointed as they worked with him.  Matthias sighed with regret, again wishing he could have done something to help or at least detain Tsyther, before he got so out of control.

"What your sire did to him was a violation of the worst kind," admitted the Spirit Keeper in a low voice.  He lowered his gaze.  "He _forced_ those feelings on Agent Blackbird, treating him as a puppet to be used.  Such a crime is unforgivable amongst the anointed.  Using our gifts to deliberately bring harm to others is forbidden as it is, but to attempt to take away a person’s free will?  It’s heinous.”

"Hey, take it easy," advised Zevian when the lifebearer’s emotions manifested in his tone and body language.  He reached out and squeezed Matthias’ shoulders.  "Blackbird is a tough nut to crack.  He survived and thanks to you and your brethren, he’ll get over it."

Embarrassed over the lapse, Matthias sighed and rested his hands in his lap.  “I apologize.  I sometimes forget myself, when I think back on the man your sire was when I first met him, and the thing he became in the end.  I…I’m very glad that you chose to seek out our help, Zevian.”

"You must have known him for longer than I thought," murmured Zevian.  "I think I was in my teens, the last time I remember that man saying a kind word to me."

"I don’t know how old you were when he and I first met.  I just know he felt he could trust me enough to open up a bit, for some reason.  I think he showed me a side he kept hidden from the rest of the world.  I wish I could tell you why, but I suppose that isn’t important."

"He fancied you," guessed Zevian, "and you’re lucky it never amounted to anything.  Dad was a charmer, but he was never relationship material—especially after he went off his rocker."

Matthias sighed, tasting regret like a bitter medicine in his mouth.  “Yes, I know.  Well, suffice to say; I see all of his good qualities in you, and none of the bad.  Shall we begin?”

Zevian nodded and shut his eyes again.  “Lay it on me.”

Matthias chose to ignore the unwitting insinuation behind those words, and he began.  He started slowly, gently tickling Zevian’s senses as he advised him.

"Think of your dancer," advised the Spirit Keeper.  "Think of his touch, his scent, the way his body fits around you when you come together in lovemaking."

"You’re making me blush," said the guild lord with a grin.

"Shush," admonished Matthias, fighting a smile.  "If you wish to learn this, you need to take it seriously."

Zevian took a deep breath and nodded.  “Right.  Go on.”

Matthias had a gentle feel around Zevian’s spirit, once he felt it open up to him.  He chose not to mention the flash of images he got.  The sire was thinking of his exotic partner, certainly…but he was also thinking of Agent Blackbird.  Knowing by now that there was no help for that, Matthias brushed it off and concentrated on the task at hand.

"Do you feel the energy building within you?" Matthias teased the erotic recesses of Zevian’s spirit, stimulating them to appropriately effect his body.

Zevian’s breath caught, and he nodded.  “Yeah…I feel it.  I…think I get what you’re doing.”

"Always use a gentle touch," advised Matthias.  He could feel Zevian’s growing arousal, and he responded naturally to it.  There was no help for that.  "You don’t want to force anything, Mr. Saber.  Only stimulate sensations and desires that are already present.  Creating them when they don’t exist is a violation, understand?"

"I get that," agreed Zevian, his voice a bit husky and breathless.  "This feels kind of dirty."

Matthias fought another smile, even as his own desire spiked and he found himself staring at the toned expanse of Zevian’s bare chest.  “I apologize for that.  Erotic stimulation is the point of this exercise, though.  Pay close attention to what I’m doing.”

Zevian made a low, purring sound of pleasure in his throat, and the tent in his pants grew more pronounced.  “I’m…uh…paying.”

The concentration on that sculpted face gave Matthias pause.  Beads of perspiration had formed, making Zevian’s skin seem to sparkle.  He really was a gorgeous example of sirehood, and Matthias wasn’t immune to sexual desire.  He hadn’t lied to the man when he’d told him he saw all of the good and none of the bad of Tsyther, in him.  What would it have been like, if Zevian’s sire had come to him for help and sat before him this way, years ago?

Without consciously meaning to, he reached out for Zevian, and he leaned toward him.  Caught up in the guild lord’s pleasure and desire, Matthias found himself drowning as if in a maelstrom.  The name that escaped his lips just before they touched the guild lord’s wasn’t Zevian’s, but his sire’s. 

"Tsyther."

* * *

 

Zevian was shocked right out of his erotic swoon, when he heard his sire’s name murmured against his mouth.  He almost could have just fallen into the moment, as he’d been imagining Azurel—and Idrisar, to a lesser, helpless extent.  The feel of the lifebearer’s lips against his stunned him for a moment, until he heard that damnable name. 

He came back to himself quickly and he pulled away, grasping Matthias’ shoulders and shaking himself out of it.  He stared his square in the eye, his slit pupils dilated to broad ovals.  He shook his head and he sighed, trying to calm his raging libido.

"Sorry kid…you’re fired."

Matthias blinked at him.  “I…what?”

Zevian shut his eyes briefly and he reigned in his urges.  “I said you’re fired.  I’m sorry, Matthias.  You’ve helped me out a lot and I know you don’t mean any harm, but you crossed a line.”

"I…I know that," stammered the Spirit Keeper.  "Zev…I mean Mr. Saber, I’m so sorry.  I don’t know what came over me."

Zevian looked him in the eye again, and he tilted his head to the side slightly.  He smiled a bit ruefully, realizing he’d just called a lashran who was probably twice his age a “kid”.  He reached out and briefly stroked the soft, flaxen hair.

"I know you didn’t mean it.  I know you’re sorry.  I also know you’d promise it wouldn’t happen again in a million years, and it probably wouldn’t.  The thing is, that line was crossed.  I’m just as much at fault, because I allowed it to happen."

Matthias shook his head and lowered his eyes.  “You didn’t.  Allow it to happen, I mean.  You stopped it immediately, and I am ashamed for my conduct.  I was seeing…him.”

Zevian nodded slowly, unable to feel anything but sympathy for him.  “I know.  Hey, I’m not blaming you.  I just think…I’ve learned all I can learn from you.  Do you think I need further instruction?”

Matthias bit his lip and shook his head.  “No.  You’ve learned what you need to control your abilities.  If you want to develop your spirit singing abilities more, you could always come to us…but you don’t… _need_ us.”

"That’s all I need to know."

Zevian got to his feet with a grunt, ignoring the obscene boner he couldn’t help.  He offered his hand solicitously to the other man, schooling his features.  The poor guy looked utterly devastated, and when he hesitantly took Zevian’s hand and allowed him to help him to his feet, the guild lord offered one last bit of comfort.

"Hey, this wasn’t your fault.  You’re flesh and blood, and you weren’t seeing me.  I’m not placing any blame."

Matthias hastily wiped his eyes.  “I forget sometimes…how much I cared.  Thank you for being so gracious.”

Zevian’s heart clenched.  Maybe there was some part of Tsyther that deserved such love and devotion from such a gentle creature, but he doubted it.  “This stays between us, okay?  As far as I’m concerned, you did your job and my review is going to reflect that.  Thanks for coming into my home and helping me.”

Matthias gave him a hesitant, wavering smile as he looked up at him.  “You have my gratitude, Zevian.  I think I should retire to my chambers, now.”

Zevian nodded, releasing his hand.  “I’ll make your travel arrangements and we’ll get you on a flight home, first thing in the morning.  This was just a hitch.  You’re a good person, and don’t you doubt that for a second.”

The Spirit Singer gave a little bow.  “Thank you.”

Neither of them were aware that Azurel had witnessed the whole thing.  They didn’t notice that the door to the exercise room was slightly ajar as they walked out of it.

* * *

 

Azurel smiled at Zevian as they prepared dinner together.  Zevian looked at him sidelong, his blue-green cat-eyes mildly curious.  “Something on your mind, Flower?”

Azurel shook his head, not ready to speak about what he’d witnessed.  He resumed cutting the leeks, and he covertly admired his lover’s profile.  Zevian had pulled his hair back into a ponytail for the preparation of the meal, but a couple of gold-streaked locks hung loose around his face.  He wasn’t wearing anything special…just a plain maroon t-shirt and a pair of slacks.  Somehow, the simple ensemble looked even sexier on such a refined man.  Azurel’s gaze fixated on the golden hoops lining the outer rim of Zevian’s ear, and he impulsively stopped what he was doing and cupped the side of the sire’s face, leaning toward him.

"Whoa, what are you…oh."  Zevian’s complaint faded into an intrigued murmur as the lifebearer urged his head closer and traced the "ladder" of hoops decorating his pointed ear.  Zevian stopped stirring the sauce and he put an arm around Azurel’s waist, purring.  He stroked the long, silken mass of lavender, black-tipped hair and he smiled.

"We’ve got food to cook, sexy," reminded the guild lord.

"I just wanted to thank you."   

"For what?"  Zevian looked honestly puzzled.

"For putting a stop to your tutor."  Azurel gazed into his eyes, and he smiled again when he saw Zevian grimace.  "Yes, I saw what happened…most of it, anyhow."

"Shit," sighed Zevian.  "Azurel, that was just—"

"I understand," interrupted the dancer.  "I know why you were doing that, and I know it just took a bad turn.  It’s okay, I’m not angry."  He kissed Zevian’s collarbone and he stroked his hair.  "You didn’t hesitate, even when you knew nothing would come of it."

Zevian shrugged.  “I learned what I needed to know, anyhow.  I was just…uh…I just wanted to…” He trailed off, distracted by the feel of Azurel’s teeth tugging at his earlobe.

"You just wanted to learn how to help me have the baby I’ve been hounding you for," finished Azurel for him, amused and endeared. 

He pulled back and swallowed a sudden lump in his throat, looking up at the guild lord through displaced locks of hair.  His ruby gaze was earnest and soft with emotion.  “Zevian, nobody’s ever tried so hard for me, before.  Nobody’s ever cared so much about what I wanted, or put so much effort into giving it to me.  You could have just thrown money at me and told me to buy whatever I wanted to fill that hole, but you didn’t.  You’re devoting _yourself_ to me, in ways that I…I just never expected.”

Zevian looked uncommonly bashful as he shrugged again.  “Well, I don’t do things in halves.  You know that, gorgeous.”

"I do," agreed the lifebearer.  He ran his palms over the powerful expanse of Zevian’s chest and shoulders, admiring his physique as always.  He smiled playfully as he slipped his hands under his shirt to tweak his nipples to hardness, and he brushed his lips seductively over the sire’s jaw and chin.

"Can the food wait for a bit?  I’d like to show my appreciation."

Zevian growled softly in response to the dulcet whisper, and he cupped Azurel’s bottom and pulled him tight against him.  Their stiffening groins pressed firmly against one another, and the guild lord captured Azurel’s mouth with his own and kissed him deeply.  He started to steer him toward the kitchen exit, and they were so absorbed in one another that they failed to notice the bodyguard stationed in the expansive hallway.

"Oh, sorry about that, Max," Zevian blurted huskily, after accidentally backing his lover into the broad Ocathian. 

Max grinned and stepped aside, making a grand gesture at the staircase.  “Don’t mind me, boss.”

Azurel didn’t usually blush easily, but he didn’t know this new man very well and his cheeks warmed as he gave him a bashful smile of apology.  He yelped when Zevian gave him a light smack on the rear.

"Up the stairs, you.  I believe I’ve got a reward coming to me."

Azurel rubbed his butt and gave Zevian a mock pout.  “Is that any way to treat your lover?”

Zevian winked.  “You’re right.  The other cheek needs a smack to make it even.”

"Zevian!" 

Azurel started running up the stairs to avoid the swat aimed at his other buttcheek.  Snickering in spite of himself, he took the steps two at a time, trying to stay ahead of the sire as pursuit set in.  Max and one of the lashran bodyguards watched in amusement as their boss chased the indignant dancer up the grand staircase to the second floor of the estate.

* * *

 

He nearly made it in time to shut the door behind him, but Azurel wouldn’t have done that, even if he had.  Zevian pushed through the door of the master bedroom suite he now shared with the dancer, and he caught Azurel around the waist.  He lifted him without ceremony, carried him over to the bed and tossed him onto it.  The decorative pillows crowning the practical ones went askew as Azurel landed on the cushy surface, and before the lifebearer could even begin to sit up, Zevian was on top of him, pressing him down. 

Azurel moaned into his lover’s mouth as Zevian began to kiss him with lusty intent.  He loved the way the man used his tongue, loved the way it stroked, thrust and caressed the inside of his mouth as if making love to it.  He embraced the bigger man and parted his thighs, letting Zevian’s hips settle between them.

"Zevian," gasped Azurel when the sire broke the kiss to lavish attention on his neck.  He was already hot and ready for him.  His body had become so attuned to his lover that it scarce needed preparation anymore, once Zevian turned him on—and that was something that came easily to him. 

"I want to try something," murmured Zevian between kisses, as he unbuttoned Azurel’s silk shirt.  "But you tell me if you don’t like it, or if it scares you.  Deal?"

Azurel wondered what on earth Zevian could be thinking of doing that would scare him.  His thoughts went to kink, and he shrugged.  “I’d do almost anything with you, Zev.  You know that.”

"This is different," insisted the sire.  He parted the material of Azurel’s shirt and he traced the round shell of his ear with his tongue, drawing a shiver of pleasure from him.  "Just relax, baby.  If I do this right, you’ll see what I mean."

Azurel’s thoughts went to what he’d overheard earlier, between Zevian and Matthias.  Curious now, he caressed the sire’s back and relaxed his body submissively.  Just the feel of that hard, tanned body pinning him to the bed was enough to titillate him.  When Zevian’s thumb brushed teasingly over a nipple, a jolt of lust went through him that was strong enough to make Azurel moan again.  He rubbed against Zevian restlessly, grinding his erection against the other man’s through their clothes.  He was already getting damp in both places, and he whimpered when those sinfully talented lips tugged on his earlobe.  He still wasn’t sure exactly what Zev was trying to do, but he appreciated every touch and kiss, nonetheless.

Zevian’s hand slid down, over the ribcage and stomach.  He cupped Azurel’s hip briefly, before lifting his hips a little to slide his hand between their bodies.  A breathless murmur escaped the dancer’s lips when Zevian cupped his arousal and rubbed it through his pants—which were feeling far too tight, now. 

"Let me get these off of you," purred Zevian after fondling him for a moment. 

He started undoing Azurel’s pants, and his mouth sought out his again to give him another one of those drugging kisses.  Azurel had a weakness for being “dominated” by the man in bed, and Zevian never failed to deliver a confident, masterful performance.  He had his own authority over Zevian, subtle though it was.  In the bedroom, he was all too happy to let Zevian have the reins.

"Mnnuh, Zevian," gasped Azurel as the sensations and lust began to intensify, to a level that could be comparable to the beginning stages of a fertility cycle.  His cock sprang free of his pants as the guild lord finished undoing them and tugged them down a bit.

"Easy, baby," advised Zevian in a husky murmur.  His hand curled around Azurel’s stiffened shaft, and he kissed his neck as he started to stroke him.  "Feel good?"

"Ho…hah…y-yes," stammered the dancer, finding speech difficult to come by.  "Zev…what…what _is_ that?  H-how are you—”

Zevian kissed him again, interrupting his questions.  His hand began to pump rhythmically, squeezing Azurel’s cock just right as he pleasured him.  The lifebearer’s moans and whimpers were muffled against his mouth, and he began to undulate instinctively beneath him.  The intensity grew, until Azurel began to cry out helplessly.  He panted and he provoked a little hiss of displeasure from Zevian when he inadvertently dug his nails into his back.

"S-sorry," whimpered Azurel contritely, trying to relax his hands.

Zevian shook his head, his mouth smiling against Azurel’s throat as he kissed it again.  “Don’t sweat it, gorgeous.  You can claw my back all you want.  I’m not stopping unless I sense I’m hurting you.”

With that said, he resumed his stroking, and he paid special attention to the sensitive tip.  Azurel’s back arched and he tensed, feeling his climax coming fast.

"Oh….OH!  Zev!" 

Azurel shut his eyes as another surge went through him, and he shuddered beneath the sire as it drove him over the edge.  He spurted hard in the bigger man’s stroking hand, and Zevian contradicted his words from a moment ago by stopping whatever it was he was doing.  He dragged Azurel’s squirming, arching body to the edge of the bed and he hastily pulled his pants down.  Fortunately, Azurel lacked shoes to get in the way and the garment soon landed on the floor, leaving him naked but for the open shirt.  Zevian looked down at him with a burning aqua gaze, his pupils widened with lust.  His right hand was wet with the dancer’s libation and he struggled clumsily with his pants with his left hand.

"Let me…help," gasped Azurel, still breathing heavily from his orgasm.  He eagerly tugged Zevian’s fly down, mindful to pull outward on the zipper so as not to accidentally catch his underwear in it.  Zevian wriggled his hips to help as Azurel got the pants open and started tugging them down.  When his thick erection was exposed and gripped in the lifebearer’s hand, he murmured that it was enough and he descended upon Azurel again, urging his hand away so that he could lube up with the lifebearer’s ejaculate.

"Hurry," gasped Azurel, cupping Zevian’s exposed ass eagerly.

"Not so fast," panted the sire.  He eased a finger into Azurel’s passage, making him moan with pleasure and need.  "Have to make sure you’re ready for me."

"I am," insisted Azurel.  "A wink from you is practically enough to make me ready, these days."

"I’m still going to make sure," insisted Zevian.  He drew back to look down at him, his handsome face bearing a stern expression.  "Stop wriggling, you little terror.  I could _hurt_ you.”

With a dejected sigh, Azurel tried to be still.  He raised his arms over his head and he gazed up at Zevian with heavy-lidded, plaintive eyes.  He purred in pleasure and licked his lips as the sire eased another finger into him and massaged inside.  That hot cat’s gaze seemed to stare into his soul as Zevian fingered him, and Azurel sensed his control slipping.  He wrapped his legs around the sire’s waist and he murmured his name again, tossing his head to the side and flicking his hair over his face.

"Oh, shit," gasped Zevian in a shaken tone, and Azurel knew he’d sufficiently seduced away the last of the man’s resolve. 

He opened his eyes and looked up at him through silken strands of hair as Zevian positioned himself.  He felt the knob of his sex pressing against him, and he deliberately relaxed to let him in.  Azurel slowly exhaled as Zevian pushed forward and eased into him.  He stretched to accommodate his girth and he murmured in appreciation.  Once upon a time, he didn’t like being fucked by guys with big dicks.  It hurt more often than not, and servicing more endowed men was a thing Azurel dreaded.  That was his old life, though.  Now he was with a man who knew how to _use_ his endowments…not just wave it around and stick it in.

"I love you, Zevian."  The words tumbled out as Zevian filled him completely.  He stroked the sire’s hair and he began to loosen the ponytail, beyond caring if his statement bothered him.  Zevian’s response was music to his ears and heart.

"Love you too, kiddo."

Azurel sighed with pleasure—both physical and emotional.  If he died right now, he’d go out a happy man.

* * *

 

Another month went by, and Idrisar had adjusted to his role as an instructor to new recruits well.  As predicted, the skills and professional attitudes of new members of the Ulvari began to improve, thanks to Idrisar’s influence.  Ammiteo came by his class to watch quietly often, smiling with silent pride and admiration for his mate.  Sometimes their eyes would meet through the window, and Idrisar would spare him a special, brief little smile before resuming his instruction.

On one such day, Vandrin was passing in the hallway and he stopped to stand beside Ammiteo outside the classroom window.   He looked inside and he frowned in disapproval when he saw that Idrisar was giving his students a combat lesson.  The lifebearer had chosen one of the sires from the group and bade him to come to the head of the class, to demonstrate some combat moves.  Vandrin looked at his taller cousin searchingly, watching Ammiteo’s face.

"You aren’t worried about him sparring like that, when he’s carrying your baby?"

Ammiteo’s gaze flicked sidelong to him, briefly.  “No, and it’s _our_ baby.  Idrisar isn’t just holding something of mine for me.”

"Okay, fine," sighed Vandrin.  He combed his fingers through his silver, violet-streaked spiked hair.  "I’m just saying, if it was my mate in there, I’d have something to say about it."

"Then it’s a good thing he isn’t your mate."  Ammiteo smirked and returned his attention to what was going on in the classroom.  "I trust Idrisar to know his own limits.  If I thought he couldn’t handle this, I’d intervene."

Vandrin shrugged.  “You know him better than I do.”

* * *

 

"Sir, I can’t attack a pregnant lifebearer.  I mean, no offence, but what if I hurt you?"

Idrisar smiled calmly at the young recruit.  “Trust me, you won’t hurt me.  I won’t let you.  Now go ahead…come at me with any move of your choice.”

The blond sire sighed, his gaze flashing to Idrisar’s belly uncomfortably.  He hadn’t yet reached a ponderous state of pregnancy, but his condition was quite obvious, now.  “Okay…I hope this isn’t a mistake.”

He performed a graceful, spinning kick attack while the rest of the class watched, gasping.  It didn’t come anywhere near its intended target.  Somehow, Idrisar moved positions so quickly it barely registered with the student.  The lifebearer agent was suddenly _behind_ him, and he had the young pupil in a tight chokehold before the move even finished.

"Tell me where you went wrong," Idrisar demanded as the sire fought for breath, bending backwards with the force of the shorter man’s hold on him.

"I…don’t know," he admitted.  "Instructor Blackbird…can I please…breathe?"

Idrisar obligingly released him.  As the student recovered, he addressed the entire class.  “His first mistake was to pay more attention to his own motions than mine.  He was concentrating on making his kick look impressive, not keeping a sharp eye on where I was at.  He was predictable, and too slow on his feet.”

Idrisar looked at the young man in question and he graced him with a patient smile.  “Above all, you underestimated me.  Let this stick in your minds… _all_ of you.  A good Ulvari never underestimates his opponents, whether they are male, female, sire or lifebearer.  As you can see, pregnancy isn’t as much of a handicap as one might think—unless the pregnant individual happens to be in labor, and I’m not due for another two months.”

There was some soft laughter, and a couple of lifebearers in the audience nodded with approval and admiration.  Idrisar patted his “guinea pig” on the shoulder and he gave him an encouraging smile to soften the blow to his ego.

"As tries go, that was a good one.  Don’t forget, I have years of experience on you.  You’re improving each day, and you’ll eventually become more than a match for me or any other Ulvari agent.  On that day, you’ll earn your title and become one of us."  He looked out at the audience.  "You all will, with hard work, dedication and self-discipline.  I believe in each and every one of you.  This concludes the day’s lesson.  You are all dismissed."

The students got out of their seats and filed out of the classroom, while Idrisar went to his desk and sat down.  He started to go over paperwork, but then he sensed someone come into the classroom after it emptied, and he looked up.  He smiled as his mate approached, walking down the steps of the theater-style classroom to approach his desk.

"Good afternoon," greeted Idrisar, getting up.  He circled around the desk to meet Ammiteo as the big sire approached the dais.  He was wearing a sharp combination of a gray blazer and dress pants today, with a cobalt blue shirt and black shoes.  Idrisar took his hands and sighed.  "Have I told you how attractive you look, today?"

Ammiteo smiled back in an almost boyish, shy way.  “I had a business luncheon.”

Idrisar nodded in understanding.  “How did it go?”

"Not bad," answered the director.  "I think Director Stevenson and I impressed the board members that came.  We got approval for the new equipment budget."

"Thank forests," sighed Idrisar.  He rubbed Ammiteo’s hands with his thumbs.  "We’ve made due with what we have, but the surveillance gear has needed upgrading for some time, now."

"Agreed."  Ammiteo lifted one of Idrisar’s hands to his lips and he turned it over to kiss the palm.  "I’m glad we pushed them for it.  You were right."

"Well, we have some people on our side," reminded Idrisar with a shrug.  He frowned, looking up at the bigger lashran with marked concern.  "You look rather tired.  As good as that outfit is on you, it can’t hide those circles."  He reached up and demonstrated his point by lightly tracing the exhausted, deep purple eyes.

"I didn’t get much sleep last night," confessed Ammiteo, taking the hand that was tracing his features and squeezing it gently.  "I’ll be fine.  I just need to have an early night, after work."

"Why not take a half-day off and come home with me, then?  We can get some take out and fall asleep in front of the television."

"Gods, that sounds good," sighed Ammiteo with a rueful smile, "but I have files to finish."

"Finish them tomorrow," insisted Idrisar firmly.  His pale blue eyes were determined behind the rectangular glasses he wore today.  "I’m pulling rank as your spouse.  You need to have a break and refresh, Ammiteo.  You aren’t any good to this department if your senses are dulled with fatigue."

Ammiteo’s smile grew.  “So is that an order?”

Idrisar nodded solemnly.  “It is.  Clock out and come home with me.”

Unable to resist, the sire bent down and kissed those supple lips.  “You’re impossible to refuse.”

Idrisar grinned.  “Good.  Go and take care of that while I finish up here.”

Ammiteo gave him a brief hug, before releasing him and stepping back.  “Okay.  Meet me in the parking garage?”

"That sounds…" Idrisar trailed off and frowned, and then he swore.  "Damn!  I can’t!"

Ammiteo’s brows shot up.  “Unpredictable.  That’s one of the things I love about you.”

Idrisar laughed and shook his head, combing his dark bangs away from his eyes.  “I’m so sorry, it’s just that I have a doctor’s appointment today.  I nearly forgot!”

Ammiteo approached him again and he covered his gently protruding stomach with one big hand.  “Then I’ll come with you.”

"It’s going to be boring."  Idrisar put his arms around his neck and kissed his jaw.  "Are you sure?  You could go straight home and I could pick up the food on my way there."

"Idrisar, I want to be there whenever I can," insisted Ammiteo.  He rubbed the baby bump protectively.  "I’d rather go with you than wait at home."

Idrisar chuckled, laying a hand over Ammiteo’s.  “Sometimes, you’re just a little bit perfect.”

* * *

 

-To be continued


	33. Epilogue

**_*Author’s note:_ ** _The owl’s name is dedicated to my friend Vinvalenwind’s sister.  Yes, Ammiteo took Idrisar’s surname when they bonded._ _J_

Copyright © C.R. Bostic, 2013

* * *

"I don’t believe this shit," complained one of the Ulvari operatives to another.  "Of all the people they could have picked to replace Blackbird, why _him_?”  He nodded meaningfully at the graceful creature with the long, silver-white ponytail standing at the end of the hallway.  Glaive was speaking with Director Ammiteo—probably about some final details concerning his new status.

Lunvas overheard them as he was passing by and he stopped to offer a word of caution.  “I wouldn’t advise you to let the director _or_ Agent Blackbird hear you talk like that.”

They looked at him with vague annoyance, and the taller one on the left came up with a rebuttal.  “Glaive breaks more rules than any of us, man.  You know that.”

"I think we all know why you _really_ object,” Sighed Lunvas, “and I’m not wild about it either, but they’ve made their choice.”

"Hey, it’s not just because of his heritage," objected the sire on the right.  "Accuse us of prejudice all you want, but the fact is that Agent Glaive is a loose cannon."

"And sometimes, a ‘loose cannon’ is what we need to get the job done," interjected a fourth voice that made all three of the sires cringe.  They turned as one to find Agent Blackbird watching them with the look of a parent catching his sons in a plot to steal something.  "In addition, Agent Glaive has proven himself to this department in ways the rest of us scarce need to duplicate.  You criticize me and Director Ammiteo, when you criticize the decision to name him Exo."

Now distinctly uncomfortable, the three sires mumbled apologies to the lifebearer they all respected so much.  Satisfied that he’d made his point, Idrisar left it at that.  “If you’ll excuse me, I have a class to attend.  I’m sure you gentlemen have better things to do than stand around gossiping.”

Lunvas snapped to attention, as did his companions.  “Yes sir.”

Idrisar watched them scatter, and a tiny smile curved his lips.  He might not be the Exo anymore, but all it took for him to command respect from his fellow agents was a warning glare.  Across the distance, Ammiteo noticed the end of the exchange and he gave his spouse a curious look, silently asking if everything was all right.  Idrisar gave him a little nod, a wink, and then he turned down the hallway to head to his class.

* * *

 

The new sense of power was so invigorating, and so liberating, that Glaive honestly didn’t know what to do with himself.  Idrisar seemed to pick up on his silent discomfort, and he took him aside briefly to give him a reassuring pep talk.  He also advised that if Glaive ever needed advice, he should feel free to come to him and he would be happy to help.  It warmed the lishere to be groomed this way, and a part of him felt guilty for taking Blackbird’s office.  Idrisar assured him that he had no real attachment to the room itself; just the contents he’d packed to take home.

Glaive noticed the change in attitude immediately.  People shut up as he approached and those that usually gave him a hard time pointedly looked away, busying themselves with other things.  The rest gave him nods of grudging respect, or in some cases, smiles of greeting.  Not _everyone_ in the Avras Alliance was a total asshole about his heritage; it just felt like it at times.  The knights were more tolerant of him than the Ulvari, as a whole.  Amongst those that seemed happy to welcome him as the new Ulvari Exo was Malcolm and Director Stevenson.  She was reserved when she shook his hand and congratulated him after his new rank was finalized, but she seemed to genuinely respect him.  Perhaps it had something to do with her former boss being an augmented human, like Haden.

Thinking of Haden of course made Glaive think of other things.  He had the power rush, but now he needed something to release it on.  After checking out his new office and getting settled in a bit, he decided to seek out his partner.  One of the terms of his promotion was that he get to keep working with Haden whenever possible.  Seeing as the two of them were known for getting things done—even when they resorted to unconventional methods—the department allowed the clause to go through. 

Glaive asked around as he made his way through the building, past rooms and corridors that were still under reconstruction from Sandman’s attack.  Terry pointed him in the direction of the cafeteria, and Glaive got there just in time to find Haden leaving after having a late lunch.  He smiled in a conniving manner as he approached the brunet, his coral gaze lusty on him.  Haden hadn’t spotted him yet, because he was checking his mobile phone for messages and whistling a little tune to himself.  He sensed Glaive’s approach just as the lishere reached him and he looked up.  He parted his lips to greet him, but Glaive caught hold of his arm and started manhandling him down the hallway.

"Whoa…did I do something wrong?"  Haden stumbled after him, his expression both puzzled and wary.

Poor Haden and his endearing buffoonery.  Glaive hid an affectionate smile as he guided the knight towards the bathrooms on that floor.  They were under construction and out of order.  It was the perfect place for some privacy, until they could get home.  He supposed he could have called him into his office, but he didn’t want to treat him like a lackey and even _he_ had more sense than to copulate on the desk that Idrisar had just finished clearing out for his use.

"Glaive, where are we heading?" 

Glaive cast a wink over his shoulder at the knight.  “To celebrate…at least for a few moments.  You’re still on your lunch break.”

"Oh.  I am?"  Haden started to grin.

"As far as I’m concerned, you are."

Glaive checked down both sides of the hallway once they reached the restrooms, and then he pushed the door open and ducked under the tape.  Haden followed him and he flipped on the light once they were inside with the door safely shut behind them.  Glaive backed his human companion against the wall and he kissed him demandingly, running his hands over the black muscle shirt under the leather jacket.  Haden kissed him back, eager to please as always.

"Think anyone will come looking for us?" murmured the knight between kisses.

Glaive slid his hands up under Haden’s shirt and he enjoyed a thorough feel of his abs and chest, pausing to tweak his nipples.  “If they do, they’re in for a show.  I have no intention of stopping.”

Breath quickening with excitement, Haden allowed him to dominate the encounter.  He sucked on his probing tongue and he played with the piercing in it, stroking his tongue over it impulsively.  He groaned into Glaive’s mouth as the lishere cupped his crotch and gave it a tantalizing squeeze.

"Do it on your own time, gentlemen," came a sudden warning from the other side of the main door.

The partners froze, eyes going wide.  How Idrisar knew what they were up to was a mystery, but they had learned that the man had an uncanny knack for detecting mischief.  Glaive broke the kiss and he cursed under his breath.

"How does he _do_ that?”

Wincing at the thought of being seen in his present condition, Haden shook his head and adjusted his package in his denim pants.  “I don’t know, but I need a couple of minutes to cool down.”

"Agents?" pressed Idrisar.

"We’ll be out momentarily," promised Glaive.

Haden chuckled suddenly, provoking a curious look from Glaive.  “What?”

"You’re blushing."

"Not hardly," denied Glaive, trying his best to muster some dignity.

"You totally are," insisted Haden.

Glaive sighed.  “You’re one to talk.”

Haden shrugged.  “I blush easy…we both know that.  You don’t, though.”

The lishere shrugged. 

* * *

 

Idrisar waited for Glaive to come out, and he kindly refrained from teasing him.  When the lishere mumbled an embarrassed apology, he smiled a little and shook his head.  “I’m only trying to watch out for you, Agent Glaive, not judge you.  I saw the two of you and I presumed you were on your way to conduct activities best suited _after_ work hours.  Better that I interrupt you than someone else.  Impressions, Glaive.  You need to make a professional one, if you’re to hold this position.”

Glaive nodded and cleared his throat, quickly checking to be sure his combination of leather and cotton clothing was intact.  Haden came out next, looking even more flustered and embarrassed.  He gave Idrisar a nod.

"Agent Blackbird."  His voice squeaked a little at the end, like a boy going through puberty.

Caught up in paternal instincts now that he was expecting another child, Idrisar chuckled and he barely refrained from reaching out to ruffle the knight’s dark hair.  “Don’t worry, this goes no further than us.  I do think the two of you should get back to your duties, however.  I didn’t bust you to humiliate you, as I was telling your partner a moment ago.”

Haden relaxed a little, sharing a look of relief with his partner.  “Thanks, man.”

Idrisar nodded.  “Think nothing of it.  Just remember to keep your personal life separate from your work, whenever possible.  If you must mix the two, try to be subtle about it.”

Glaive raised a brow at him.  Idrisar shook his head before the lishere could even begin to ask the question that was so clearly on his mind.  “Any mingling of lives I may or may not have done with the director is no business of yours, Agent.  I suggest you not even go there.”

Glaive got the message and nodded, though he was grinning.  “Right.  Subtle.  I’ll remember that, sir.”      

* * *

 

A few weeks passed, and Zevian tried to propose to Vylden that he take over Voldus in L’daris’ stead.  He hadn’t yet found another suitable candidate that he trusted as much as his underling.  Unfortunately, Vylden preferred to remain under his employment, rather than becoming a mafia boss in his own right.

"Boss, I don’t mind taking over here until we can arrange a new guild lord for this place, but I’m not leader material.  I’m a soldier."

Zevian sighed, shutting his eyes.  “Yeah, and you’re a good one.  You’re one of my best sharks.  Why do you think I have you watching over things there?  Keeping things under control here in Oricus is a full time job as it is.  I can’t lord over _two_ islands at once…not if I ever want to sleep again.”

"You sure you can’t find someone else?"

Zevian compressed his lips.  “If I could, I would have sent them by now.  There are guys that would be happy to take over there, but I don’t trust them not to screw us over.  I don’t want to set up someone that’s just going to start these guild wars all over again.  I need someone I can trust not to get greedy and make a power grab.”

"I’m flattered that you’d trust me with this, Sir," Vylden said, "but I really don’t know how to run an island.  I can do management, but I don’t have the head for the big issues, like you do."

Zevian parted his lips to argue that point, but there was a knock on his study door.  “Damn, let me put you on hold for a minute, Vylden.”

"Sure thing."

Zevian pressed the hold button on his desk phone and he got up to answer the door.  Azurel was standing there, looking refreshingly gorgeous in an ensemble of black silk pants, a matching shirt with silver floral print on it, and a pair of white sandals.  His hair hung loose and feathered back from his brow. 

"Zevian, did you forget?  We’re supposed to go to the beach, today."

The guild lord grimaced.  In fact, he _had_ forgotten.  “Give me a few, Azurel.  I’ve got to work this out.”

Azurel’s brows creased with worry.  “I know you have rules against me getting involved in your business, but is there anything I can do to help?”

Zevian shook his head, and he bent over a little to give the shorter lashran a quick smooch on the lips.  “Don’t worry about it.  I’ll be out in ten, if not sooner.”

"Okay, Zev."  Azurel squeezed his hands and he gave him a little smile.  "There’s no rush."

Zevian smiled back at him and he waited for him to walk away, before shutting the doors again and returning to the phone.  He picked it up with a sigh and he steeled himself.  “I’m back.  Listen Vylden; right now neither one of us has a choice in this.  You say you don’t have the head to be a boss, but I’ve got nobody to replace you.”

Zevian stopped and thought about it for a moment, and a grin tugged at his lips as an idea occurred to him.  “You’re just watching over things for me until I can find a suitable replacement, got it?  Just like you did while I was away in Avras.  You’re still part of this family.  Take your wages out of the business earnings there.  Hell, give yourself a five percent raise, while you’re at it.  You report to me and if anything big comes up, you contact me and I’ll tell you what I want you to do.  Think you can do that for me?”

The other man seemed much more enthused when he responded.  “So I’m still an Oricus shark?”

"Absolutely.  Your status as guild lord over there in Voldus is just a temporary title."

"That, I can handle."

Zevian breathed a sigh of relief and he dropped the pen he’d unconsciously started to fiddle with.  “Good.  Now that we’ve got _that_ matter settled, I’ve got somewhere I’m supposed to be.  Just keep me updated on the goings-on over there and contact me if you need further instructions, Vylden.  We clear?”

"Crystal, boss."

Zevian ended the call and he rubbed his tired eyes.  He’d give it a year, as he’d said.  He believed once he got used to it, Vylden might find the life of a guild lord more rewarding than life as a lackey.  He hated to lose another of his most trusted sharks, but Zevian preferred the thought of Voldus being run by an ally over having Vylden back in Oricus while some stranger took the throne. 

He started to get out of his chair to get ready for his outing with Azurel, when his phone rang again.  Zevian glared at it, and his mouth compressed into an irritated line when he saw Xellnaise Quartz’s name show up on the caller identification screen.

"What the hell do _you_ want?” he muttered.  The flashing red “urgent” beside the name suggested he had some other crisis to deal with, and Zevian wished he’d contacted his operator to tell him not to patch any further business calls into this line for the rest of the day.

Zevian sighed and took a seat again.  The man would just keep calling—and possibly begin hounding him with emails—if he didn’t pick up and find out what this was about now.  At least he could be confident that Xellnaise would take “no” for an answer, if Zevian declined whatever request or offer he had to give him.  The man was tenacious, but he wasn’t stupid.  In addition to sharing some mannerisms with the common alley cat, Zevian happened to be helplessly curious like one, too.  Xellnaise could be a pain in his ass, but the eccentric guild lord of Azirus always managed to get himself into the most…interesting situations.

"Dammit," sighed Zevian, curiosity piqued to unbearable levels.  He sat back down and answered his phone.  "This better be good, Quartz."

* * *

 

Azurel tried to be patient, he really did.  He wanted to give Zevian the space he needed, but he’d cancelled out on their last outing together and Azurel was really looking forward to their date.  Lately, it seemed like the only time Zevian had for him was to fuck him between work hours.  He also worried for the sire’s mental health.  He had his hands full, and there had been a bombing attempt recently at the club.  Plenty of people were still jealous of Zevian’s seat of power and would like nothing more than to remove him from it.  Zevian laughed it off as an amateur attempt, but Azurel could sense his underlying tension.  He checked his watch and he sighed when he got confirmation that fifteen minutes had passed.  Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to check in on his lover again.  

Azurel spared a little smile at one of the house security guards as he passed him in the hallway, and he approached the solid, ornate wooden door to Zevian’s study again.  He knocked lightly on it.  “Zevian?”

"Come on in," invited the other lashran’s voice from behind the door.  It sounded even more tired than before.

Azurel turned the knob and opened the heavy door, peeking in.  He frowned when he saw that Zevian had face-planted on his desk.  “Are you okay?”

Without lifting his head, the mafia boss raised a hand and gestured blindly for his lover to come closer.  Azurel shut the door behind him and he approached, circling around the expensive, polished wooden desk.  He laid his hands on Zevian’s tensed shoulders and he began to massage them.  “Do you want to talk about it?”

Zevian shook his head, but then he belied the gesture and groaned a complaint against the smooth surface his forehead was resting on.  “What am I, everyone’s fucking babysitter?”

Azurel patted him comfortingly, before resuming his massage.  Feeling it was safe to do so, he asked for details.  “What happened?”

"First I had to coerce Vylden into staying on as the guild lord of Voldus," complained Zevian, "and then, just as I was about to get up so we could head out, I got a call from Xellnaise Quartz.  I never should have fucking answered it."

Azurel winced, knowing full well that Xellnaise could barely walk across the street without causing some kind of catastrophe.  “What did he say?”

"He needs help handling the Rippers," answered Zevian with a groan.  He raised his head off the table and he turned a bit to look up at Azurel with frustrated aqua ayes.  A braid had come loose of his ponytail and it hung over the left side of his face, the woven strands of brown and gold swaying with his motions.  "They’ve taken the southern port by force.  The Chalice won’t send aid and he’s not sure anyone from the Ulvari or magic guilds will get there in time, before they’ve got it sealed and secured.  He’s going to lose that port, if he doesn’t get help fast."

"But what does he think you can do about it?" pressed Azurel uncertainly.  "You’ve already got your hands full with things here and on Voldus.  You can’t spare any men."

"No shit," sighed Zevian.  He reached up and patted one of the hands massaging his shoulders.  "Sorry, gorgeous…I’m going to have to be a little longer.  I’ve got to make a call and see if I can get him some more local help.  Ironic, isn’t it?  He’s the one running the pirate haven, but I’m the one with all the connections to the scalawags."

Azurel forced a smile, sensing his cue to leave.  He patted his shoulders once more and leaned down to kiss him on the temple.  “I’ll be working on my design, while you do that.  Just come and get me when you’re ready, Zev.”

Zevian nodded.  “Sure thing.  I’ll try to make it quick.  Thanks for being a good sport about this, kiddo.”

Azurel spared another smile before walking to the door, leaving him to dial whomever he needed to contact.

"Azurel?"

The lifebearer turned to regard his lover with a question in his garnet eyes.  Zevian had the phone to his ear, waiting for the other party to pick up.

"We’re going to the beach today," Zevian said, his cat-like gaze sincere and determined.  "That’s a promise, okay?  We’ll be out of here within the hour."

Azurel nodded.  “Okay.  Take your time.”

Zevian winked at him, and then he started speaking into the phone.  “Star, how’s my favorite piratess doing today?  Yeah?”  He checked his watch.  “It’s after lunchtime, you vampire.  Listen, I need a favor and I’ll see to it you’re well compensated if you do it for me…”

Azurel left the study then, shutting the door behind him.  He sighed and leaned up against it when he was on the other side.  He absently placed a hand over his abdomen—still depressingly flat.  Other people were having children all around him, but his body refused to cooperate and accept Zevian’s seed.  He knew his lover wasn’t the problem.  Zevian had already sired one child—two, if one counted the unfortunate miscarriage before Orindel was conceived.  He’d only recently shared that part of his past with Urahis with him, but Azurel didn’t blame him for keeping that particular disappointment to himself.  He’d even been gracious enough to provide a sample for the doctors to do a sperm count, and they’d found his levels perfectly healthy.  In fact, Zevian had an above average sperm count.

"I should be swelling with child by now," sighed Azurel.  He was beginning to resent his body for denying him what he wanted so badly. He had to believe it would happen for him eventually.  He wasn’t barren.  He just wasn’t particularly fertile, either.  "Some day." 

* * *

 

"Okay Mr. Blackbird, it looks like everything is normal.  Let’s get you cleaned up."

Idrisar smiled up at Dr. Hollas, and then he turned his gaze back to the sonogram screen.  “So he’s healthy?”

"Perfectly," answered the blond sire.  He gave Idrisar a reassuring smile.  "You’re in wonderful condition.  Whatever you’re doing, keep it up."  The doctor opened up a cabinet and procured some wet wipes to clean the gel off of Idrisar’s rounded belly.  "How are you going for vitamins?  You should be close to running out."

Idrisar nodded.  “I’ll need another prescription, before I go.”

"We’ll take care of that after this, then."

The door opened without warning and a tall, powerfully built sire with spiked white-blond hair and dark purple eyes strode in.  “I’m sorry I’m late.  Did I miss it?”

Whatever remonstrating words were about to leave Dr. Hollas’ lips didn’t make it out, when he recognized the sire of Idrisar’s unborn.  “Director Blackbird, I was just telling your spouse that he’s in fine shape.  Unfortunately you missed the scan, but I’ve got it on data stick for you to take home.”

Ammiteo looked at the screen and he went to Idrisar’s side, taking his hand.  “I’m sorry.  I got held up at the office and traffic is hell out there.”

"It’s okay."  Idrisar returned the pressure of his hand.  "There really isn’t much to see.  What matters most is that the baby is fine."

Ammiteo nodded, and once the doctor finished wiping off Idrisar’s abdomen, he laid a protective hand over the swell of it and rubbed it gently.  Idrisar squirmed a little and cleared his throat.

"Remember what we talked about, the other night?"  He glanced down meaningfully at the big hand slowly rubbing his belly.

It took Ammiteo a couple of seconds to catch on, and he flushed a bit and removed his hand.  “Of course.”

Idrisar smiled at him.  As he’d predicted, this pregnancy put a damper on his libido during this final trimester, but unlike the previous ones, he had moments where said libido would return swiftly and with little warning.  For some reason, that seemed to happen more often when Ammiteo rubbed his stomach.  As such, he made his spouse promise not to do it in public, so as to lower the risk of spontaneous boners and subsequent embarrassment. 

"Okay, you can pull your shirt down now, Mr. Blackbird."

Idrisar did so, and he sat up with Ammiteo’s help.  The doctor removed the slim data stick from the machine and he handed it over to the sire with a smile, before retrieving his data pad from his pocket and entering something into it. 

"If you’ll stop by the pharmacy on the first floor on your way out, they’ll have your prescription ready for you in a few moments.  Are there any further questions from either of you, today?"

The couple glanced at each other and they shook their heads in unison.  So far, Dr. Hollas had been very thorough about giving them information and explaining things in detail as the pregnancy progressed. 

"Good.  Then I’ll see you next week, Idrisar.  Just think; in a month or less, you won’t have to come in for these weekly examinations any longer."

"No," agreed Idrisar with a wry, crooked smile.  "After that, we’ll have the pediatrician visits to look forward to.  Hopefully our son will skip the colic."

"I think _all_ parents wish for that,” chuckled the doctor.  He shook each of their hands.  “I think you’ll like our pediatrician.  He’s fairly new, but he’s very dedicated.”

Remembering that Ronin Adder used to be the resident pediatrician, Idrisar nodded politely.  “I’m sure we will.  Thank you, Doctor.”

* * *

 

_Somewhere in the Zarn islands:_

"I bloody _hate_ this thing.”

Vurkanan lifted the sleep blindfold from his eyes and raised his head from the pillow to regard his female companion.  “You say that every single time you use it, my love.  Surely you’ve become more accustomed to your phone by now.”

"I doubt I’ll _ever_ get used to it,” she sighed.  Having a hangover to contend with as well as the difficulties of operating the modern device wasn’t putting her in a better mood.  She poked her tongue out the corner of her mouth in concentration as she texted her Wayfarer associate back.  “Why can’t people just _talk_ over these things?  That’s what they were designed for!”

"And they’re also designed for texting," corrected Vurkanan, "so that when you can’t talk, you can still get messages to people.  It’s really an ingenious invention, ‘Rora."

"Daddy’s cannons were an ‘ingenious invention’," she insisted.  "This thing is just bothersome."

Vurkanan sighed and pulled his blindfold all the way off.  He oozed out of the bed with lazy reluctance, taking half the covers with him.  He shuffled across the room with a yawn after putting his feet into the fluffy slippers at the foot of the bed, and he peered over the black-haired woman’s shoulder. 

"Here, let me," he offered.  "At this rate, whomever your texting will be a grandparent by the time they get the message."

Grumbling with annoyance, she relinquished the device to him.  “Fine.  Just type in that we can be at the meeting in a couple of hours.”

Vurkanan stopped entering the text and he frowned at her, blinking sleepy silver eyes.  “Excuse me?  What’s this about a meeting?”

"Saber contacted me with a request while you were still lazing away," she answered.  "He needs me to get some help for an associate of his.  The Rippers are giving the island lord here a really hard time, and the Wayfarers are his best chance of driving them back."

"Fair enough, but what does this have to do with us?" he demanded.  "Or more to the point; me?"

"You’re my partner," she reminded him.  "And I’ll be dealing with pirates, you featherhead.  Having you and your sorcerous powers there could be useful.  I haven’t had dealings with these lads directly for some time, and I don’t know some of the people we’ll be negotiating with."

Vurkanan sighed and looked down at the phone again, shaking disheveled bangs out of his eyes.  “All right, then.  You’d better have room service bring me a hangover drink before we move out, though.  I’ll be less than useless to you if I’m too muzzy-headed to work my spells, should it come to that.”

"Deal," she agreed.  "Now type up the message, so I can get on with calling Quartz to let him know the meeting is set up.  Saber is offering a handsome sum for our aid, so I’d rather be sure this goes off without a hitch, aye?"

"I’ll do my very best, my dear.  Now be a good lass and call room service whilst I finish this."

* * *

 

A little over two hours later, Vurkanan and Aurora stepped off the ferry and onto the docks to the mainland of Azirus island.  Both of them wore shades to combat the sting of sunlight on their sensitive eyes, though the day was overcast.  A chill wind blew in from the sea, and Vurkanan pulled his jacket tighter and twisted his long, silver hair into a makeshift ponytail to keep it from blowing in his face. 

"Where to?"

Aurora checked the navigation application on her phone.  “Hmm…it’s changed since I was last here.”  She noticed a couple of men with Ripper bandannas eyeing her and her companion speculatively, and she deliberately patted the pistols sheathed at her hips and gave them a challenging glare.  The bearded one on the left looked more amused than worried, but his younger companion wisely looked away.

"Let’s hail a cab," suggested Vurkanan with a grimace as he too noticed the interested looks aimed their way.  There was a reason it wasn’t generally a very good idea for lifebearers or women to wander around this island unescorted.  Those that weren’t well-armed could easily end up abducted and made house entertainment for some crude mafia boss or pirate den.  "I’m not in the mood to blow anyone up today.  The sooner we get to our destination, the better."

Aurora agreed and she waved at one of the white taxis parked by the curb in the street.  The driver nodded and she and Vurkanan made their way over to the automobile and got in.  “Do you know this address?” she asked, pressing the gps to the reinforced, clear separator. 

The driver—a human—turned in his seat to look at it with narrowed eyes.  He nodded in confirmation, and his voice came in through the speaker in the ceiling.  “Yes Ma’am.  I know just where that is.”

"Then take us there, and there’s extra in it for you if you can get us there fast."

“ _Without_ taking the slum route,” added Vurkanan hastily. 

"You got it."

Vurkanan sighed and put his seatbelt on.  “Why didn’t Xellnaise arrange a car to pick us up?”

"Because I didn’t ask," answered Aurora with a shrug.  "I don’t need a fancy limo."

"But did it ever occur to you that _I_ might like one?” Vurkanan was nearly pouting.

Aurora reached out and ruffled the silver hair affectionately, provoking a soft complaint from the lifebearer.  “Spoiled, prissy lad.  Sometimes you’ve just got to rough it.”

"Not when there are alternatives," he insisted.

"Bitch and moan, bitch and moan," she teased.  She reached into her jacket and withdrew a little pill case.  She opened it and took out a tablet.  "Here, have another aspirin and button it."

With another dejected little sigh, Vurkanan took the offering.

* * *

 

They arrived at Xellnaise’ club, and they were escorted upstairs to the VIP area.  The club was similar in design to Zevian’s club on Oricus, but with a more modernized look.  The designer furniture was in monotone colors and the walls were decorated with etched mirrors.  The guild lord met them in the corridor, smiling in a distracted but friendly manner.

"Welcome, welcome!"  Xellnaise shook each of their hands at the same time, leaving Aurora to regard him with one black brow delicately arched.  It was difficult to stay annoyed with such a friendly fellow.  "Please, follow me," he offered when he released their hands.  "Geoffrey, I wonder if you could—" He turned to speak to one of his bodyguards and he abruptly ran into him. 

"I beg your pardon," sputtered Xellnaise, flushing with embarrassment.  He tucked his silver-white hair behind a pointed ear, making the crystal hanging from the lobe catch the light.  "Would you mind getting a bottle of the 3345 vintage red from my private stash, Geoffrey?  Our guests must be thirsty."

Vurkanan resisted the urge to grimace at the thought of drinking wine right now, but he was too well-mannered to complain—especially when offered such a good year.  “You’re too kind, Mr. Quartz.”

"If you would prefer a different vintage, feel free to ask," insisted Xellnaise.  "I’m quite the wine collector.  Or, would you prefer something stronger?"

For once, Aurora declined the opportunity to have whiskey.  “The red will be fine.  Shall we get this meeting started?”

"Let’s," agreed Xellnaise.  "I’m so grateful for your intervention, Miss Darshaw."

"Don’t thank me just yet," she warned.  "I can’t guarantee anything.  The Wayfarers might demand a price you aren’t willing to pay."

"I’m sure with you on my side, we can make a satisfactory arrangement," he insisted.  He opened the door for her when they arrived outside the room he’d set up for the meeting.  "Zevian expressed a great deal of respect for you and your contacts."

"Then he might need to re-evaluate his opinion," she jested. 

She stepped into the room and Vurkanan followed.  There was someone sitting at the table already, sipping at a cocktail.  He was lashran, and he had long black hair, streaked with white.  It fell past his shoulders in waves and Vurkanan noticed the purple bandanna he wore around his head.  He was an attractive fellow—quite attractive, actually.  There was something hauntingly familiar about his features, and Vurkanan tilted his head and watched as he drank from his glass.

“‘Rora, is it just me or does that lad look a bit familiar?”

She looked, frowning as well as she lifted her shades to prop them on her head.  “You’re not wrong, but I’ve got too much going on in my head to place it.”

The lashran in question glanced up, his eyes flashing emerald.  Vurkanan froze in his tracks, as did Aurora.  The color of those round-pupiled eyes was exactly the same as Lythallendar Darshaw’s.  It certainly wasn’t him, but the familiarity of those eyes threw them both for a loop.  The stranger tucked his hair behind an ear and they saw that it was pointed.

"Lishere," whispered Aurora from the corner of her mouth.

"Ah, allow me to introduce you," said Xellnaise.  "Aurora, Vurkanan, this is Erishar of Zarn.  He’s here as a representative of the Wayfarers.  Erishar, this is Aurora and Vurkanan Darshaw.  They’ve come at the behest of Zevian Saber, to help us come to a fair and satisfactory agreement concerning the Ripper problem."

Erishar gave them both a nod of greeting.  “My superior hasn’t arrived yet, but he should be here soon.  Until then, let’s get started on the basics.  Tell me exactly what’s going on.”

Thoroughly bothered by the young man’s familiar looks, Vurkanan took his seat next to his female companion.  Xellnaise sat down on his other side and he began to explain what was happening at the southern port.  His bodyguard came in with the wine and some glasses, and he poured for them as they listened to the guild lord’s account.  Xellnaise requested that he dim the overhead lights a little as he left, evidently guessing that his guests were suffering hangovers due to the shades on their heads. 

"If they retain control of the southern port, there’s going to be a severe imbalance of import trafficking and profits," predicted Aurora when Xellnaise finished explaining.

Xellnaise nodded.  “And with the Chalice insisting on staying out of it, I have no other recourse but to turn to the Wayfarers.  The Ulvari and the sorcery guild would send aid if I asked, but it would take time for them to bring enough people here to help.  By then, the Rippers will have full control of the harbor and wresting it away from them will be even more difficult and dangerous.”

"I can imagine the bloodbath," sighed Vurkanan.  He lifted his glass and he swirled the ruby liquid around, before sniffing delicately at it to savor the bouquet.  "So I think what Mr. Quartz is trying to do here is clear up this little mess before it becomes a big, unmanageable one.  Can we presume he’s also contacted the Ulvari for possible aid?"  Vurkanan looked at Xellnaise with raised brows.

"Yes," agreed the guild lord.  "I’d like to avoid as much un-necessary violence and death as possible.  That would be where your cartel comes in, Mr. Erishar.  If you can help us to secure that port again, I’ll reward you handsomely."

"How handsomely?"  The lishere relaxed in his chair, leaning back a bit.  He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Xellnaise with quiet interest, his vivid green eyes intrigued. 

Xellnaise sighed, evidently having expected some kind of shakedown.  “Half of the profits from incoming and outgoing transit on that port will go directly into Wayfarer coffers.  Permanently.” 

Erishar seemed to consider it, and he rattled the ice cubes in his glass meaningfully.  One of the bodyguards in the room hastened to make him another drink at Xellnaise’s nod.  “I’ll need to consult the Captain about this, before I give a yay or nay.  I think your offer is reasonable though, and I’ll support it.”

Aurora checked her watch with a frown.  “So when is this captain of yours supposed to get here?  The day isn’t getting any younger.”

"Any moment," assured Erishar.  "Until then, let’s discuss what details you can give me.  I presume they’ve got the bay guarded, as well as the land access."

"Correct," sighed Xellnaise.  "They’ve blocked off all outside access."

"And it’s only going to get tighter, the longer we wait to act," Aurora pointed out ominously.  "So are your people in or out, Erishar?"

The lishere accepted the fresh cocktail from Xellnaise’s bodyguard and he regarded her coolly.  “That remains to be seen, Miss.  As I said before, I can’t give you that answer until—”

The door creaked open and something flew into the room before he could finish speaking.  Vurkanan instinctively ducked down in his chair and covered his head as black wings flapped over it.  The avian form settled on the table right beside the snack bowl, and Xellnaise impulsively tried to shoo it away when it dipped its head into the bowl to procure a sunflower seed. 

"Whose bird is this?" demanded the guild lord as the animal swallowed its treat and hooted.

Vurkanan stared at it.  “A black owl?  How strange!”  He watched the bird with wary interest.  It was roughly the size of a common barn owl, with the same features.  The raven color of its feathers and the yellow eyes were the only difference.  The creature turned around on the table, its talons clicking on the surface as it regarded him.  It hooted again, and then it flapped its wings and took off toward the door.

They all looked up to see a man step through the threshold.  He wore an old fashioned, brimmed hat on his head and his hair spilled out from beneath it to fall around his shoulders and down his back in a cascade of midnight black.  Golden eyes with slit pupils peered out from the shadow of the brim as the owl settled on his shoulder.  He was tall, dressed all in black, and he wore the purple sash of the Wayfarers.  He stepped into the light just as Vurkanan was taking a drink from his wine glass, and when the sorcerer got a good view of the aristocratic, sculpted features surrounding those eyes, he abruptly spit out his wine—all over Aurora.

"Ugh!  Nice one, Vurk!"  She wiped at the crimson spots now staining her shirt and she glared at him, distracted by the unexpected mess.  "If _I’d_ have done that, you’d be lecturing me on—”

"Antyan."

Aurora frowned at him.  “What?”

Vurkanan nodded at the man walking into the room, and Aurora looked up with one brow ridiculously quirked to her hairline.  She recognized her half-brother immediately, and her jaw dropped. 

Of course, Aurora Darshaw never went speechless for long.  “What in the everloving fuck are _you_ doing here?”

It wasn’t the most elegant of questions, but then, she and Vurkanan hadn’t been awake for all that long and the last news they’d heard of Antyan was that like his parents, he’d been lost at sea.  Antyan tilted his head and regarded them both with quietly interested eyes. 

"One could ask the same question of you, sister."

Poor Vurkanan just sat there sputtering.

* * *

 

After getting over the initial shock of seeing someone they thought dead come walking through the door, Vurkanan and Aurora exchanged hearty hugs with their long-lost family member and then sat down with Antyan to get caught up.  They completely forgot about the reason for the meeting whilst they worked out what had happened. 

"I’ve been in operation for some time, actually," Antyan informed them.  "Just not directly.  You’ve met my first mate."  He nodded at the lishere, who nodded back and sipped his drink.  "He acts in my sted, on most occasions.  When I heard that the two of _you_ were going to be here on the behalf of the Oricus guild lord, I thought a reunion might be in order.  So tell me; where have you both been for all these years?”

"Asleep," answered Vurkanan, blinking.  "I…I’m sorry, but we thought you were dead!"

"Do I look dead?"  Antyan reached for the snack bowl and slid it over.  He took a pistachio and he offered it to the animal perched on his shoulder.

"Don’t be a smartass," snapped Aurora.  "Nobody told us you were still alive and kicking, lad."

"You can be forgiven for that," answered the pirate dryly.  "I tend not to keep in touch with most of our descendants."

"So you haven’t even bothered telling—"

"Those who need to know are aware," interrupted Antyan.  "If he chose not to tell you, that’s his own lookout."

"Well, we haven’t really spoken to him at length," Vurkanan reminded Aurora.  "We were caught up in the situation with Haden as soon as we woke up."

"Still, that should have been the first thing we did," she grumbled. 

"Are we going to discuss business, or not?" Antyan’s lips curved slightly at one corner.

"You’re enjoying this," accused Aurora.

"Perhaps just a bit," admitted the sire.  "After all, I’ve been living under the assumption that the two of you could be deceased, for all these years.  I hardly think you have room to complain."

Aurora and Vurkanan looked at each other, and the former shrugged.  “We could go ‘round and ‘round about this all afternoon.  Let’s just put aside the blame game and talk about what’s to be done about these Rippers, aye?”

"I thought you’d never ask."  Antyan looked at his lishere companion.  "Tell me your take."

"If we’re going to take the southern port back, we should move fast," obliged Erishar.  I’ve got the fleet on standby, awaiting your orders."

"Good."  The amber gaze settled on Xellnaise—who was looking hopelessly confused by the strange family dynamics he was witnessing.  "And what form of reward can we expect for our aid?"

"He’s offered half the profits from any port business, in or out," answered Erishar.  "I think that’s a fair offer, but it’s ultimately your decision." 

Antyan took it into consideration, absently feeding his owl another tidbit from the snack bowl.  It toyed with his hair with its beak after finishing the snack, but he hardly noticed.  “In addition to half the profits, I want all Ripper activity restricted from that port.”

"If you and your people can help us keep them out, I wholeheartedly agree," answered Xellnaise.  "I’m fed up with those Rippers, in all honesty."

Antyan smirked.  “Have a care, guild lord.  You’re trading one devil for another.”

Xellnaise got a bit flustered.  “W-well, perhaps that’s true, but I’m sure the Wayfarers will be more fair than the Rippers.”

Antyan crossed his arms over his chest.  “Are you?”

"Don’t tease him, Antyan," admonished Vurkanan when Xellnaise started looking like he might regret his choice.  "Mr. Quartz, this man is my nephew and I can assure you that he’s good to his word, when he gives it."

"Is he?"  Xellnaise looked uncertainly at the pirate, then at the lishere presumed to be his second mate.  "Well, that’s a relief."

Antyan took a seat at the table, and he removed his hat to set it on the surface.  He looked exactly the same as Aurora recalled, except that his hair was a bit longer than it was when she’d last seen him.  He combed his fingers through it to loosen it a bit, and he looked to Xellnaise again. 

"How far are you willing to go, Mr. Quartz?"

Again, Xellnaise looked uncertain.  He looked to Vurkanan and Aurora as if seeking their advice.  The female lashran rolled her eyes.  Zevian had warned her about this.  This man, while compassionate and moral, had no leadership qualities.  In fact, his compassion and morality put him at a distinct disadvantage when dealing with the cutthroats of these islands. 

"There’s only one right answer here, Quartz," warned Aurora.  "You’d best not hesitate."

"Oh.  Okay then…uh…I’ll go as far as necessary?"

Antyan’s stoic, unreadable expression relaxed slightly, a flash of amusement lighting up his eyes.  “We’ll see.”

* * *

 

The sun was setting when the fleet converged on the harbor, and Xellnaise watched it via the monitor in his home office, shaking his head.  “Forests, I hope this wasn’t a mistake on my part.”

"Daddy?"

The guild lord looked up when his adopted human daughter poked her curly head in through the door.  “Can I come in?”

He considered the events that were about to happen on his computer screen, and he nearly refused her.  However, Whitney lived most of her young life on the streets of Azirus.  She was no stranger to the violence that humans and lashran alike could inflict on one another.  Still, she was just a child and he didn’t like the idea of exposing her too freely to such things.  He decided to use a little white lie.

"Of course, dear.  Come and sit with me.  I’m watching…a historical video about…piracy."

The girl came in eagerly and she climbed into his lap when he scooted back to allow room for her.  She looked at the computer screen and she frowned.  “That looks like Gull harbor, Papa.”

Xellnaise grimaced.  “Yes, well…it’s a reenactment.  Amateur, of course.”

"Oh!  Is it happening today?  Could we go and watch it?"

The sire could scarcely hide his horror at the thought.  His heterochromatic gaze widened a little before he could stop it.  “Er…no.  That wouldn’t be a good idea, honey.  They’re using live ammunition and explosives for this…uh…reenactment.  It isn’t safe.”

"Why?"  She looked at the screen again, which showed the Wayfarer fleet steadily moving in on the harbor.  Alarms were now blaring and there was a rush of activity as the Rippers hurried to the balustrades and their ships. 

"Because the ion weapons and gunfire could inadvertently cause harm to any onlookers," excused Xellnaise.  "It’s a…closed set, sweetheart."

"But why aren’t they using blanks, like they do in the movies?"

"To…make it more authentic."

Whitney crinkled her nose.  “Won’t they mess up the harbor?”

"Probably," he muttered, not at all pleased by the reminder.  "But we’ll repair whatever they damage.  The harbor has needed construction for some time now."

"Seems pretty stupid to me," she said bluntly, sighing.  "But I guess it will make it more realistic, huh?"

Xellnaise nodded, and he reached for the tissue holder to grab a sheet.  He wiped the dew of nervous sweat from his brow and he adjusted the sound on his computer.  “Yes, that’s it.  Realistic.”

* * *

 

"Uncle Vurkanan, are you ready?"

Vurkanan’s silver hair whipped around him in the salty ocean breeze as they steadily closed in on the harbor.  “I’d better be.”

A thick and heavy cloud chose that moment to blot out the setting sun, and the Ripper vessels in the harbor began to move toward the approaching opposition, closing ranks to try and prevent any from getting through to the port.  One of them in the front ranks fired a warning shot, and the white lozenge of energy hit the water several yards from Antyan’s ship. 

"Activate the prow defenses," ordered Antyan.  He turned the wheel a bit, and he checked the sails.  The sails were decorated with the likeness of a panther’s head, white on black—his signature. 

"We should expect the Black Cat to take a direct hit," warned Erishar, narrowing his eyes at the opposition lining the distance.  "They’ll aim for us before they aim for the others."

Antyan nodded in agreement, and he looked over at the ship keeping pace with his.  He’d given Aurora command of that one, because despite her years of hibernation, she knew what she was doing when it came to captaining a ship.  She was shouting orders and looking quite at home, and he smirked.

"We need to know what sort of defenses they have set up behind that fleet," Vurkanan reminded him.  "I can work a divination, but it’s going to require more concentration from me than my usual magick of choice."

"No need," Antyan assured him.  He raised a hand to his shoulder, where his exotic avian companion was perched.  "Tenja can scout for us."

Vurkanan raised an interested brow as the bird moved from Antyan’s shoulder to his bound wrist, settling on the leather binding and digging her talons in for purchase.  “The owl?  Have you learned some form of spell-casting you haven’t mentioned, Antyan?”

"Not exactly."  Antyan shared a glance with the lishere at his side, and he spoke to his pet.  "Go, Tenja."

As if the animal knew exactly what he needed of her, the owl spread her wings and took to the air.  Antyan returned his attention to the wheel, and he lifted the communication device secured under the wheel’s pedestal.  “All hands on deck,” he ordered.  “Engine room, be ready to deploy additional defensive mechanisms.”

"Aye, Cap’n," came the rough answer a moment later.  "We’re ready for your mark!"

Antyan gave a nod to Erishar and he stepped aside.  “Take the wheel.”

The lishere did as instructed without question, and for the first time, Vurkanan started to understand why he seemed so familiar, beyond the green eyes.  In many ways, he resembled Antyan in facial features—which accounted for why he was so attractive looking.  He would have to ask Antyan what relation they had to one another, later on.  He had the sneaking suspicion that Erishar was another Darshaw descendant.  In fact, his given name sounded suspiciously like the family name passed down from Lythallendar and his first spouse.

Vurkanan was distracted from his thoughts when he saw Antyan’s face go void of all expression.  The black-haired sire’s pupils were narrowed to thin slits as he stared blankly at the horizon from beneath the shade of his hat.  He began to speak in a distracted voice, the dulcet tone elegantly calm in the face of this adversity. 

"The blast cannons are focusing on this ship," Antyan announced.  "Vurkanan, if you have magical protections you can add to the Cat’s technical ones, now would be the time for it.  I’ll try to stall them."

Vurkanan understood right away what was happening.  Antyan’s owl wasn’t just a mere owl, after all.  Tsabrak used to be able to conjure a black panther to do his bidding.  It was a matter of channeling both spiritual and magical energy to give form to one’s totem animal.  It surprised him a little that Antyan’s wasn’t feline in nature, but then, the owl fit him as well.  He wanted to ask him how he’d done it, wanted to know where he’d learned such a spell…but he suspected it might have something to do with the company Antyan kept.  He wondered why he hadn’t brought his full arsenal, but they hadn’t had much time to hash out the details. 

Vurkanan began to chant under his breath, remembering that he had a job to do.  If his sibling were alive today, he had no doubt he’d have lectured him on allowing such a distraction.  They could sit down for a nice, long talk with Antyan _after_ they saved the day.

* * *

 

"Blast cannons are ready to fire," reported the operative overseeing the balustrade defenses.  "On your mark."

The leader of the harbor forces glanced at the screen, gauging the distance of the enemy vessels.  It came as no surprise that those pesky Wayfarers were trying to take advantage of the chaos and snag control of the port away from them.  The day they were gone from Wyndrah would be a day of great celebration, for the Rippers.

"Concentrate your fire on their flagship in 3…2…"

He never made it to “1”.  A large black bird flew into the control room, amidst shouts of protest and amazement from the crew.  It dove straight for the balustrade overseer and he yelled as its sharp talons dug into his face.  He struggled to get the creature off of him while his men looked on in amazement, and one of them finally had the sense to come to his aid.  The animal was finished with him, though.  It flew to a different Ripper on the other side of the wall and blinded him, next.  Some fool tried to shoot it, and he ended up hitting the man he was trying to help.  He went down with a scream, and the owl flew away to yet another cannon operator. 

This one had the sense to duck before it could land on his face, but the owl swooped away, hooting.  Evidently, it was satisfied with the havoc it had wrought.  The leader of the balustrade group got to his feet with the help of his companions, wiping his bleeding face with his sash.  He had no idea where the bird came from, but he had a job to do and taking down the flagship of the Wayfarers was top priority. 

"Fire at will!"

"Sir, look out!"

The cry came just as the cannon operators started back for their posts.  There was a projectile of ionic energy heading straight for them, fired by one of the enemy ships.  It had to be a fluke, a wayward shot.  It couldn’t really have been specifically aimed at them—unless those Wayfarer ships were using satellite imagery to mark their shots.  They shouldn’t be able to do that, however.  The undersea mineral formations around the bay generally caused too much equipment interference for satellite usage, once a ship sailed into it. 

It really didn’t matter _how_ the shot found its way to the walls, though.  It struck with punishing force, blasting a scorching hole in the eastern side of the structure and sending men and equipment falling to the docks below.  The Rippers in the process of preparing the dock cannons scattered like ants to avoid the falling debris and their comrades. 

"Fire those cannons, _now!_ " demanded the overseer.  "Don’t let them get off another…" he paused and listened as a peculiar sound reached his ears.  It was a whistling noise, created by something coming close to breaking the sound barrier, but not quite.  "Is that a cannonball?"

He got his answer a moment later when the heavy, spherical projectile struck the wall right beneath him, making it crack and crumble.  There was no time to debate how or why the enemy was using such primitive weaponry in this fight.  Primitive or not, it hit with astonishing force and the whole of the middle part of the wall was rapidly falling apart as a result.

Running to escape the collapsing section, he’d lost all interest in the owl—which was now scouting for another target.

* * *

 

"You still use cannon balls?"  Vurkanan raised his brows at Antyan, dividing his attention between the firefight that had just gotten underway and the protective shield he’d woven around the Black Cat.

Antyan shrugged, his gaze still distant as he used his bond with his owl to see through her eyes.  “If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it.”  He reached for a pair of small binoculars in his jacket, and he handed them over to the sorcerer.  “See for yourself.”

Vurkanan took the offered device and he peered through it at the distant harbor.  Upon seeing the damage that one single shot caused, he blew a low whistle and nodded in approval.  “I see!  Are you still using your father’s design?”

"With some minor alterations to offer near perfect stability, aim and concussive force."  A brief, subtle smirk adorned Antyan’s lips.  "Father’s designs never go completely out of style, even with a different fuel source and firing mechanism."

"Very true," sighed Vurkanan, suffering a moment of melancholy despite the violence surrounding them.  Another blast struck his shield and he winced as he felt it cracking.  "I don’t know how long my outer shell will last.  How many hits can your ship’s deflection shields withstand?"

"It’s difficult to say," answered the pirate.  "I suppose we may soon find out."  He picked up his communication device again and spoke into it.  "Aurora, have your long-ranged artillery lock onto the following coordinates, and I shall have mine do the same."

"Aye," came her answer, crackling over the transmission.

Vurkanan shut it all out and he began to gather his energy for offensive spells.  The Ripper ships were closing the distance and the explosions were coming more frequently and getting more violent.  One of the smaller Ripper vessels was already going down, and a couple in Antyan’s fleet looked as though they might soon follow. 

There were several options he could utilize to slow down their opponents, or even take out some of them.  His usual method of choice involved fire, lightning and wind…but they were there to take back the harbor, not destroy it.  The artillery fire from the ships was doing enough damage, without him exacerbating it with fireballs and tornadoes.  He mulled it over until he came to the conclusion that he didn’t _need_ to aim any of his spells at the port itself; just the ships.  Once those were taken out, it would be a lot easier for the Wayfarers to secure the port.

Satisfied that he’d come to a reasonable decision, Vurkanan looked around to choose his first target as his body sung with magical energy.  This was going to be fun—if the ship didn’t get blasted out from under him before he could finish.  The Rippers seemed to be concentrating most of their fire on the flagship, while blocking the rest of the fleet off from the harbor.  If the Cat couldn’t withstand the blasts long enough, it wouldn’t matter what method Vurkanan used.

* * *

 

"Cap’n, we’re losing power."

Antyan nodded, unsurprised.  “Use the backup generators.  We’ve taken out most of the harbor defenses.  Now we just need to finish off those ships and move in.”

Erishar nodded and conveyed his orders.  Antyan had taken the wheel back again, now that they’d done all the damage he cared to do to the harbor defenses.  The sun had set and the early evening sky was lit up with the explosions from the naval battle taking place.  Honestly, the only reason they were fairing as well as they were was because the Rippers were weakened from the struggle to overtake the harbor in the first place, and they hadn’t had time to reinforce.  It was a good thing Xellnaise acted when he did to get help.  As predicted, if he’d waited for foreign intervention they probably would have arrived too late. 

The question was whether they could hold the harbor themselves, if they won this fight.  It was a sure bet that more of the Rippers would return in greater numbers, once they learned that they lost the port they’d just captured a day ago.  That was a concern for later, however.  Right now, Antyan’s first priority was keeping his vessel afloat and preventing as much damage to her as he could.  He felt the deck shudder beneath his feet as one of the blasts made it through the shields, and he called out to his uncle.

"Vurkanan, I need you to conjure another shield!  Ours are failing and we’re vulnerable!"

The sorcerer had just finished calling down lightning on the hapless crew of one of the enemy ships, and he gave Antyan a worried look that suggested he might not be able to conjure much of a shield.  The man had his limits, after all, and while he was undeniably one of the most powerful elementalists on Wyndrah, divination and conjuration had never been his strong points. 

"I’ll do what I can," promised Vurkanan.

One of the Wayfarer ships drifted close at that moment, and at first Antyan thought it was out of control…perhaps due to a rudder chain being damaged in the fight.  He realized the truth when its hull crashed into the Cat, and the men on board began to toss grappling hooks.  They weren’t satisfied to try and take out the ship from a distance.  They were getting desperate.

As enemy marines swung over to his ship, Antyan picked up his communication device and warned his fleet.  “The Black Cat has been boarded.  Use defensive formations to ensure none of these other bastards get close enough to do the same and swamp us.”

"Shit," Aurora cursed over the transmission.  "I’m coming over!"

"No, you stay on the ship I assigned you to," demanded Antyan. 

He saw one of the Rippers break through the fray happening on his deck, and he drew his gun and shot him in the throat before he could make it to him.  Keeping the weapon handy, he reiterated his command to his half-sister.  “Do you understand, Aurora?  I need you to—”

Another Ripper made it past his crew, but this one met an even bloodier fate when Erishar intercepted him with an old fashioned—but quite deadly—rapier.  The Ripper tried to fire at the lishere, but Erishar closed in on him too quickly and sliced his throat open.  He didn’t see the second opponent coming at him and Antyan dropped his transmitter and shot at the threat, before he could stab his first mate in the back. 

"Watch yourself," he warned the younger man when Erishar looked down at the fresh body. 

The green eyes flicked to him and he nodded grimly in agreement.  The crew was doing their best to keep the fighting from moving below to the gun deck, so that the cannon operators could keep up the pressure fire on enemy ships.  The vessel that had crashed into the Black Cat made an ominous groaning sound as the main mast broke.  Antyan looked at the grappling hooks still attached to his ship and he predicted no good would come of leaving them attached, if the Ripper ship was going down.

"Cut the lines loose," he called, pointing at the objects.  Erishar glanced over and upon seeing what he meant, he repeated his order, shouting it to anyone close enough to hear.  Men rushed to cut the lines loose, so that their ship wouldn’t get dragged down with the faltering Ripper one attached to it.   

Vurkanan was so focused on conjuring another shield around the Cat that he didn’t notice the danger around him, but Aurora—bless her stubborn heart—had her borrowed crew steer her ship close enough for her to toss her own line over and transfer to the Black Cat.  Seeing the vulnerable state Vurkanan was in and seeing a couple of cutthroats ready to take advantage of that, she charged across the deck and kicked one of them in the head.  Stunned by the impact of her boot on his temple, he fell quickly.  The other drew his gun on her and she grabbed his wrist with a savage yell, twisting it.  He ended up shooting himself in the stomach, instead of her.

Antyan locked the wheel into place and he went to their side, with a protective Erishar at his heels.  “You never were good at following orders,” he complained to Aurora, his golden eyes narrowed against the sea spray.

She looked up at him through damp, dark bangs as she let the body of her would-be shooter fall to the deck.  “I’m older than you, lad.  I used to change your diapers.”

Antyan rolled his eyes.

Vurkanan finished the spell at that moment, spreading his hands in an encompassing gesture.  A nacreous glow spread out over the ship, before fading into invisibility.  “There,” he panted, sinking to his knees in exhaustion.  “That should hold for a while…hopefully long enough to see this through.”

He dragged the clinging, saltwater-dampened locks of hair out of his face and looked around, startled by the flurry of activity around them.  “When did we get boarded?”

"Moments after you began to cast," answered Erishar.  He pressed his fingers to the communication piece in his ear with a frown, and he looked at Antyan.  "The crew reports that there’s been some substantial damage to the forward bow, and lighter damage to the hull.  They’re working on patching the worst of it so that we don’t start taking on too much water."

"Good."  Antyan surveyed the main deck, satisfied that his people had the situation under control again.  They’d beaten back the invading groups and the fleet had surrounded them to prevent further boarding.  The enemy ship that had rammed them was beginning to sink, and Antyan decided to steer the Black Cat away from it just to be safe. 

"Are we taking prisoners, sir?" asked one of the men as Antyan started back for the wheel. 

"No.  Not at sea.  We won’t give chase if they flee, either.  Concentrate on taking the harbor back, and we’ll take prisoners there."

"They’ll go to their haven and tell their fellows about this," predicted Erishar. 

Antyan shrugged.  “Their fellows are going to hear about this regardless of whether any of them live to get away.  I doubt this day will be the end of this.”

The younger man nodded, offering no further arguments.

* * *

 

The fighting went on through most of the night.  Xellnaise watched it all on the satellite monitor, even though it was hard to make out anything that was going on once the sun went down.  Whitney got bored with it eventually, and Xellnaise took a break to go into the kitchen with her and make something to eat.  She ate in her room and worked on her finger painting, while he returned to his study and resumed watching the battle.  He wanted so badly to contact his allies and ask what was going on, but they had warned him that they wouldn’t have time to fill him in while they were in this fight.

"Sire," sighed the guild lord, "I’m afraid I’ll never be anything but a disappointment to you, as a guild lord."

Were the Darshaws and their allies even still alive?  The battle appeared to be dying down finally, but he couldn’t tell if any of the remaining ships belonged to his associates or not.  If the Rippers won, it would be just a matter of time before they choked off all access to the trade routes and began to move in further.  They’d probably go for the eastern port after this, and once they controlled all commerce in and out of the island, they would close in on him.  Even if the Wayfarers allied with him to fight them off, the Rippers had been around for a very long time and their organization was international.  If he lost this port, the rest of the island might very well follow.

Xellnaise took another break from watching the dying battle, and he left his study to go down the bedroom wing.  He’d had this home custom built over water.  It was all one level and it had it’s own little hydro plant to generate electricity.  The white building was made to reflect his appreciation for art and modernity, with floor-to-ceiling windows.  It wrapped around a courtyard with a reflecting pool in the center, and there was a small garden as well.  He loved this place, but if he had to, he would take his daughter and leave. 

"Whitney?" 

He knocked gently on her bedroom door when he reached it, his eyes absently seeking out the abstract, black and white painting hanging at the end of the hallway.  When he didn’t get a response, he frowned.  He turned the knob and pushed open the door, and he sighed in relief when he found the little girl curled up on her lavender, lacy canopy bed.  Her puppy lamp was on and the unfinished finger painting was sitting on her little white desk, next to her half-eaten sandwich.  Xellnaise tip-toed over to it to pick up the plate, and then he went to his daughter’s side and covered her up.

"I’ll always keep you safe," he promised her in a whisper, and he gently stroked a dark curl away from her forehead.  He clicked off the lamp and left the room quietly, careful not to trip over anything.  Fortune seemed to be with him, because his phone didn’t ring until he was halfway down the hall.  Unfortunately, it startled him enough to make him toss the sandwich plate into the air.  He made a grab for it and he ended up knocking the plate across the hallway. 

"Oh, damn," he muttered when the sandwich hit the floor and mustard got on his gray carpet.  He started to kneel to clean it up, but the phone rang again and he chose to answer it instead, just in case.  "This is Quartz."

"It’s over."  Antyan’s voice was neutral in a way that left the outcome impossible to guess.

"Captain Darshaw?  Did we win?"

"We’ve taken the harbor," confirmed Antyan.  "You’ll need to send as many men as possible to help ensure we keep it, Mr. Quartz.  The Wayfarers will assist with security, but it would surprise me if the Rippers don’t attempt to take it back again, at least once.  They are a tenacious bunch."

"Yes, of course," agreed Xellnaise, trusting the man to know how the rival pirates operated.  "I’ll make some calls now, and we can arrange things further in the morning.  Is…there anything else I can do?  Did you lose many people?"

"They suffered heavier losses," answered the pirate lord.  "As for our own, it can’t be helped.  What you need to concern yourself with is keeping your end of the bargain and doing your part to protect this port.  The eastern harbor should be safe for now, as it isn’t as open and can be more easily defended.  I’d recommend you put extra people on that too, however."

"I will," promised Xellnaise.  "Thank you, Captain Darshaw.  I swear to honor our agreement."

"See that you do."

* * *

 

The cold light of dawn revealed the shocking aftermath of the battle.  After a restless night of broken sleep, Aurora and Vurkanan walked the scorched docks with Antyan to survey the damage.  The crew was already hard at work repairing the Black Cat, but the cleanup in the harbor would be up to Xellnaise.

"I think it may be a while before you start seeing profits from this port, Antyan," Aurora predicted, wrinkling her nose at the lingering smell of death and char.  They were disposing of the bodies as quickly as possible, but some had fallen into the water and now floated grotesquely near the banks. 

"Probably," agreed Antyan.  He didn’t sound worried.  His owl was dozing comfortably on his shoulder as they walked.

"So, your first mate," Vurkanan pestered, "Surely I’m not imagining a certain family resemblance, there.  He has Lythallendar eyes and your bone structure."

"He’s a descendant," confirmed the pirate.

"Ah, I thought so.  Does he know?"

Antyan shook his head.  “Not in detail, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

"How does your partner feel about that?" asked Aurora.

"He agrees with me."  Antyan stopped and regarded them both, his expression softening into a smile.  "I’m meant to tell you ‘hello’, by the way.  He was quite happy to hear you were both alive."

"No happier than we were to find out about you," sighed Aurora.  She gave the bird a wary look before putting her arms around him and hugging him.  "Tell him ‘hello’ back.  When things settle down again, I think we’re long overdue for a reunion."

"I would like that," agreed Antyan, hugging her back.  Vurkanan took her place a moment later, and then the three of them just stood there looking at one another, at a loss for anything else to say.

"Oh!  What about the owl?" Vurkanan finally said as he pointed at Tenja.  "Is she conjured, or flesh and blood?"

"Flesh and blood," answered the pirate.  "I can’t conjure the way you and Sire could.  My mystical abilities are limited to an animal bond.  I purchased her at a flea market."

"Hmm, so you can communicate with all animals, or just certain ones?" Aurora regarded the bird with interest.

"It takes time," answered Antyan.  "I can’t walk up to any animal and see through its eyes.  I have to know it, and it has to know me.  Tenja and I had to become friends, first."  He almost smiled as the owl started preening his hair with her beak. 

"How interesting," Vurkanan said sincerely.  "I never knew you had such an ability, Antyan."

"Neither did I, until I was shown."  Antyan lowered his gaze.  "During those dark years, I learned quite a bit about myself."

Neither one of them needed any clarification on what time span he was talking about.  After the death of his human lover, Antyan traveled paths that had them all worrying over what he might become. 

"Where will you go after this?" Aurora asked.

"I’ll be staying close," he answered.  "For a while, at least.  I must protect my investment."

Understanding, she nodded.  She guessed his partner would join him, sooner or later.  “Well, I’ve got a smuggling operation to take care of in Oricus, when we finish up here.  I want you to know we’re available to help, if anything starts going to shit again.  Right, Vurk?”

"Absolutely."  The sorcerer nodded.  "We have time to help them clean up a bit, don’t we Aurora?"

She made a face.  Aurora had never been a fan of cleanup duty—a fact which hadn’t changed since she was a child.  “I…suppose.  We could at least help patch up the Cat.”  She looked out over the water at the vessel.  “Black again.  Is she really the same ship Sire passed down to you?”

"What do you think?"

Looking at the panther figurehead and the overall build of the ship, she cast her mind back through countless years, and she nodded.  “Aye, it’s the cat.  Probably refurbished but she’s got the same spirit.”

Antyan nodded.  “There was no getting around the need to replace some parts as they aged, but the body style never changed.”

She smiled.  “That’s good to know.”

* * *

  

Vurkanan and Aurora stayed long enough to help with repairs, as promised.  When they were finished, they bid Vurkanan and his mysterious lishere goodbye, and they traveled back to Oricus to conduct their business there.  They lived a lot like vagabonds, banking what profits they didn’t immediately need and keeping the rest for living expenses, room and board.  Antyan stayed in Azirus until the southern port was repaired and properly secured, and then he assigned Erishar to remain behind and keep an eye on things for him, while he traveled to the Chalice. 

Xellnaise did his best to govern the island, but his control remained tenuous.  If it weren’t for the aid of his Wayfarer allies, he probably would have lost more than the southern harbor.  While he struggled to maintain control of Azirus, Zevian managed both Oricus and Voldus, with the aid of his shark.  When he wasn’t caught up in business, he was trying to give his young lover the baby he wanted so badly.  They got word that Idrisar was in labor a little more than a month after the harbor battle, and they took the first flight to Avras they could get, so that they could be there for the birth.

* * *

Valkyrie Falls:

Tired, pale blue eyes opened when he heard the familiar, hushed voices around him.  It took a moment for his vision to focus, and he looked up to see Zevian Saber holding his tiny new son, wearing a grin on his handsome face.

Disoriented, Idrisar frowned and tried to make sense of it.  “Mm…wha?”

The arresting blue-green cat eyes settled on him.  “Hey, kid.  How are you feeling?”

"Confused," admitted Idrisar.  He tried to sit up, but he was weak from giving birth.  The motion pained him and he groaned softly. 

"Here, let me help."

Azurel was at his side in a moment, pressing the controls for the automated bed raise it into a sitting position for him. 

"Thank you," Idrisar said graciously, even though he was still mightily confused.  "Am I awake?"

"Sure," answered Azurel.  "I guess they’ve got you medicated, huh?  Zevian and I arrived about an hour ago…right when they were wheeling you back in from the delivery room."

"Ammiteo’s down the hall, getting coffee," Zevian added.  The baby fussed and he rocked him in his arms.

Idrisar tried to see his new son, having passed out shortly after he came into the world.  “Bring him closer?  I haven’t seen him, yet.”

Zevian obligingly brought him over.  He took a seat on the edge of the bed and he eased him carefully into his father’s waiting arms.  Idrisar took the miniscule sire and he smiled proudly at him, relieved that he was in the world, now. 

"Hello, little one," whispered the agent.  He stroked the soft, silver-white down on the baby’s head and looked into the teary, pale-blue eyes.  "So we finally meet."

Ammiteo came in with his coffee, and when he saw his mate holding their new son he smiled broadly and set the drink aside on the tray.  Zevian moved out of his way as he approached the bed and sat down on it.

"I think we made a handsome kid," Ammiteo murmured.

Idrisar nodded in agreement.  “We certainly did.  Has he been fed?” 

"Just before I went for coffee," answered Ammiteo.  "They showed me how to mix the formula.  He won’t need another feeding for a couple of hours."

"Good."  Idrisar sank back against the pillows a bit, and he offered the infant to Ammiteo.  "I want to keep holding him, but I’m so tired."

Ammiteo took the baby and he leaned over Idrisar to kiss his disheveled, dark hair.  “It’s okay.  You can hold him all you want after you’ve had some rest.  You’ve got every excuse in the world to be tired.”

"I’m sorry to be rude," Idrisar murmured, struggling to keep his eyes open as he regarded their visitors.  "You came…all this way and…" he broke off in a yawn, remembering to cover his mouth.

"Don’t sweat it," urged Zevian, reaching out to give Idrisar’s blanket-covered foot a little squeeze.  "You just brought a new person into the world, Blackbird.  Go ahead and collapse.  We won’t mind."

"Not at all," agreed Azurel, his crimson gaze gently sympathetic.  "We can talk when you’ve had some rest, okay?"

"Thank you," sighed Idrisar with a sleepy little smile.  "I’m just…going to rest my eyes now."

"You do that," urged Zevian.  "We’ll be around when you wake up."

* * *

 

"He was a trooper," explained Ammiteo to the two of them, when Idrisar drifted off to sleep again.  He held his little son and he couldn’t seem to stop grinning at him.  "I know he was in agony once he was in the active stage of labor, but he kept telling me to stop fawning over him."

Azurel chuckled.  “That sounds about right.  Did you panic at all when you knew the baby was coming?”

"Not really," answered the big sire.  He glanced at his sleeping mate.  "Idrisar wouldn’t have liked that."

"So you panicked in private when you took little breaks," guessed Zevian with a smirk. 

He half expected Ammiteo to deny it, but the Ulvari director bowed his head and breathed a confession, instead.  “Ancestors, yes.  I refused to panic in front of him, though.  I didn’t want to add to his stress.”

"I have a very hard time picturing you panicking," Azurel said with a soft laugh.

"Baby, just about all sires and men panic when their significant other is giving birth," Zevian assured him, "at least a little.  Some guys are just better at hiding it."

Azurel looked at the baby, smiling a little enviously.  “He’s beautiful.  What are you going to name him, Mr. Blackbird?”

"Seheret," answered Ammiteo. 

"Hmm, that’s pretty."  Azurel frowned.  "But what is the origin?  It doesn’t sound like a lashran name."

"It’s Ocathian."  Ammiteo rested the baby carefully against his shoulder and patted his back when he started to fuss again.  "We heard the name while watching a history program, and we both really liked it."

"It’s unique," approved Zevian.  He looked at Idrisar again when Ammiteo eased his son into the bassinet in the corner of the room, walked over to Idrisar’s bed and stroked his hair.  "Azurel, let’s give them a few moments alone, eh?"

"Sure," agreed the dancer.

* * *

 

Ammiteo handled his son gingerly at first—which was perfectly understandable, considering that the big sire was aware of his own strength and worried that he might accidentally harm the baby.  Zevian helped him while they waited for Idrisar to wake from the healing trance he’d slipped into, and Azurel took every moment he could to hold the infant and dote on it.  Seheret wasn’t as small as the typical lashran newborn, thanks to his sire’s genetics, but neither was he the size of a human infant.  Still, it was easy to imagine Idrisar having trouble delivering him, and Ammiteo decided he was more than content with just one child.  He didn’t want to put his love through that again, even if they _could_ conceive a second one.

Idrisar came out of his trance a day later, and that night he was released from the hospital.  Sefon and his family arrived in Valkyrie Falls that same night; too late to attend the birth, but right on time to help welcome little Seheret home for the first time.  Ammiteo and Idrisar offered the spare room in the attic to Zevian and Idrisar, but the Zarnian couple declined, assuring them that they had a room waiting for them at one of the top hotels in the city.  They stayed for a week, visiting Idrisar and his family often and even going out on the town one night with Haden and Glaive.  Vurkanan and Aurora sent a gift for the baby and their congratulations to the family. 

Unfortunately, Zevian still had business to attend to back home.  With the ever-growing threat of the Rippers in Azirus and the nagging problem of governing Voldus, he couldn’t afford to take an extended vacation.  He paid one last visit to Idrisar, before going back to Oricus.  While Azurel said his goodbyes to the baby, Zevian sat on the front porch with Idrisar, relaxing on the bench as they looked out at the street together.  Ammiteo was at headquarters, checking in on some things.  He had another week of paternity leave before it was time for him to return to work full-time, but he liked to stay on top of things.  Sefon and his family were out for the day at the park.  It left Zevian and Idrisar with some private time, and neither of them were quite sure how to fill it.

* * *

 

"I hear things recently got interesting on the islands," Idrisar said after several moments of silence.

"Yeah?  Interesting how?"  Zevian glanced sidelong at him, playing dumb.

The Ulvari rolled his pale eyes at him.  “You know how.  I have a feeling you had something to do with it, too.”

"Enlighten me."  Zevian crossed a booted ankle over one knee and he smiled at him coyly.

"A massive naval battle in the bay leading into the southern harbor of Azirus," obliged Idrisar succinctly.  He took his glasses off and polished them with a soft cloth he kept in the pocket of his button-up flannel shirt.  "One that could rival some of the most famous sea battles in history, if the footage I saw on the news was any indication."

Idrisar replaced his glasses and he smirked at the guild lord.  “But you had _nothing_ to do with that.”  His tone was sarcastic.

Zevian put his hand over his chest in a gesture of one falsely accused of something.  “Me?  I’m not a pirate.  How could I have anything to do with that fight?”

Idrisar sobered.  “Zevian.”

The guild lord sighed.  “Okay, I may have pulled some strings.  The Wayfarers and Xellnaise’s people did the rest.”

Idrisar nodded, his gaze going to the clouds coming in.  “My organization got a request for aid from the Azirus guild lord, the day before that fight occurred.  Before Director Talith could even send people to investigate, that conflict occurred and he got word from Quartz that the harbor was back under his control.  How long will that last?”

Zevian sighed and shook his head.  A cool breeze came in, making the wind chimes sing and stirring the two men’s hair.  “I don’t know,” he admitted.  “That depends on the tenacity of the Rippers and how aggressive the defense is.  That’s up to Quartz and the Wayfarers, really.”

"I see."  Idrisar lowered his gaze, seeming to mull the problem over and debate inwardly.  Finally, he looked at Zevian and the warmth of concern showed in his riveting gaze.  "How bad is it, Zevian?  Be honest."

Zevian stared at him, half tempted to tell a comforting lie—if for no other reason than the fact that Idrisar had a new baby to worry about and he didn’t want him stressing over Zarn.  He found that he _couldn’t_ lie to the man, though.  Gazing into those earnest blue eyes, Zevian was again reminded that Idrisar was one of the few people he knew he could trust implicitly.

"It’s holding together right now," he said, "but that could change with a shift in the breeze.  Xellnaise’ hold on his island is slipping more with each day, and I’ve got a reluctant lackey governing Voldus, until I can find someone I can trust to run the place without betraying me.  I can hold Oricus, and the Chalice won’t ever be in danger as long as they’ve got the Spirit Keepers there.  Azirus could go down, though.  If that happens, Voldus may follow."

"So there’s a good chance that we could see Azirus become Ripper territory completely, in the next decade or so," reasoned Idrisar.

Zevian nodded.  “That’s what I’m afraid of, yeah.”

Idrisar sighed and he chewed his plush bottom lip in thought, inadvertently drawing Zevian’s gaze to it.  The sire swallowed and pointedly looked away, reminding himself that he had no business fantasizing about cupping the back of Idrisar’s head and pulling him close for a big sloppy kiss.

"If it gets bad," Idrisar said at length, "really bad, help will be available to you."  He looked at Zevian again, his gaze holding the sire’s.  "That’s my promise to you.  One way or another, I will get you the help you need.  Okay?"

Zevian knew that Idrisar didn’t make vows like that lightly, and he reached out and briefly caressed his face, memorizing the feel of the smooth skin and the bone structure beneath it.  “I’ll remember that.  You know the same goes for you, Blackbird.  If you ever get into deep shit and need an outlaw on your side, I’m your man.”

Idrisar reached up to touch the hand caressing his face, and for a moment, his emotions shone in his eyes.  “I know.”

That was when Zevian knew for sure that Idrisar _did_ love him back, and it made it even harder to take his hand away when the sleek red sedan pulled up to the curb.  A couple of Zevian’s men got out of the car, dressed sharply and wearing shades.

"Boss," announced the driver with a respectful nod, "The plane leaves in an hour."

Zevian stood up and he boxed away his feelings, for everyone’s sake.  Maybe he and Idrisar loved each other, but they’d both made their choices in companions…and he’d just had a baby with his.  He knew the agent loved his muscular director and Zevian loved Azurel, even if it wasn’t with quite the same passion he felt for Idrisar. 

"We’ll be right down," Zevian announced.  He went to the screen door leading into the house and he called out for his lover.  "Azurel, the car’s here!  Come bring the baby to his Dad so we can get going."

Azurel came out a moment later, and he reluctantly handed the baby over to Idrisar.  His long hair was pulled back into a ponytail and he didn’t seem to mind the bit of spittle drying on his shirt.  “Are you sure I can’t just take him with me?” teased the dancer with an adoring look at the infant.

"I’m sure," Idrisar chuckled.  "But I’m sure you’ll have one of your own, some day."

Azurel sighed, looking crestfallen.  “Right.”

Zevian patted him comfortingly, again stricken with unreasonable guilt for his failure to get him pregnant, so far.  Idrisar just smiled at the younger lifebearer and he skillfully cradled his son with one arm against his chest, so that he could use the other to give Azurel a little hug.

"Just keep trying," advised the agent.  "Until you get confirmation that you’re barren, there’s _always_ a chance—and it may come when you least expect it.  Trust me.”

Azurel forced a chuckle.  “Yeah, I guess you’d know.  I’ll try to stay positive.  Congratulations again, Agent Blackbird.”

When his lover withdrew, Zevian took his place and he gently hugged Idrisar, before squeezing the baby’s little hand in farewell.  “We’ll send you an email or something when we make it home,” he promised.  “Take care of yourself, Id-boy.  Ouch.”

Idrisar smirked at him after pinching his side in remonstration for using the hated nickname.  “You just couldn’t resist a parting shot, could you?”

"It’s compulsory, with you," agreed Zevian with a wink. 

He put an arm around Azurel and walked down the steps with him, out to the waiting car.  They turned one last time to wave at Idrisar, before climbing into the automobile.  He waved back and smiled at him, and he watched as they drove away.

* * *

 

When he was alone on his porch except for his little son, Idrisar sat back down on the bench with a sigh.  “Ancestors keep you safe, Zevian.  I know _you_ won’t.” 

He looked down at Seheret, and he smiled at him.  “It looks like it’s just you and I, now.  Let’s go back inside and listen to some music, until everyone comes home.”

The baby of course didn’t object, and Idrisar got back up and went inside, locking the screen door behind him.  He carried his son over to the replica stereo system, designed to look like an antique model.  It played modern data disks and had ports for hub drives, but it also had a working turntable on top and a cassette player.  He tuned in to his favorite Indie music channel, and he took a seat on the couch before the fireplace with his son.

Life had a strange way about it, sometimes.  It was full of unexpected twists and turns, and just when you thought you knew where it was taking you; it would sweep you off in another direction entirely.  Sometimes, in a secretive corner of his mind, Idrisar imagined what it would have been like to give in to his attraction and his feelings for Zevian.  He wondered how long it would have lasted between them, if he’d stuck with his original assessment that Ammiteo was too young for him and gone for it with the guild lord. 

He kept those fantasies to himself, and he didn’t allow them to cast his mind in doubt.  He was happy with Ammiteo.  They had a beautiful son together, a stable income and a nice home.  For Idrisar, this was enough.

* * *

-The End   


End file.
